




tii i j^abctl'i I ^odcvS 


cKsSon 


Boston 

b J Briinmer Cornpam 

Ip22 


j [ 

! ! .| 

If 



4 r 

1 

f 




Book 


CopightlJ? 


CLDEmGHT DEFOSm 


V 


s 


S 


. ‘ 


, y 


( 


‘ s; 




I 


• t 


S 


V 


a 



t 

f 


( 


/ 


■ ‘V 

t < ' 


i' 




, . ,• , -‘.'.r ••(: ‘f* ■> 


, > 




' ' ' l' 


f.‘> '■ 


. (-, 






IT’S YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 
ELIZABETH RHODES JACKSON 





% 



A 

t 


r 


Illustrated by 


L E. W. KATTELLE 


m -2 '23 

©C1A690813 


( 

r 


r 


Copyright, 1922 

By B. J. brimmer COMPANY 
First Impression, November, 1922 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OP AMERICA 

AMBROSE PRESS, INC. 

Norwood, Mass. 




TO MY CHILDREN 


WINIFRED RALPH 

FOSTER KINGSBURY 



CONTENTS 


I. 

The Wishing Stone .... 

1 

II. 

The Pixie Starts It ... . 

8 

III. 

The Pixie’s First Task 

14 

IV. 

Wendell Finds an Unexpected Ally 

22 

V. 

A Frog Somewhat Out of the Common 

30 

VI. 

The Story of the Enchanted Maiden 

38 

VII. 

Wendell Works the Midnight Spell 

44 

VIII. 

Cousin Virginia has a Caller 

52 

IX. 

The Breaking of the Charm 

58 

X. 

In the Giant’s House .... 

66 

XI. 

The Cloak of Darkness 

73 

XII. 

Blind Man’s Buff with the Giant 

77 

XIII. 

The Cap of Thought .... 

83 

XIV. 

The Magic Book .... 

89 

XV. 

A Choice of Charms .... 

96 

XVI. 

The Happy Family .... 

102 

XVII. 

Sammy Tries His Hand 

108 















IT’S YOUR FAIRY TALE, 
YOU KNOW 


CHAPTER I 

THE WISHING STONE 

L HE children’s room of the Library 
was very still. Once in a while a 
murmur arose at the delivery desk, 
or some squeaky-shoed small feet 
crossed from open shelves to read- 
ing table. Occasionally a helpful 
child leaned across to another and 
whispered, That’s a dandy book. 
Have you read the rest of them ? ” 
But all of these minor sounds were 
blended into the general effect of stillness and se- 
clusion ; and they did not even reach the ears of 
a small boy named Wendell, who bent over a large 
volume on one of the low round tables. He did not 
hear the footfalls nor the murmurs ; he knew nothing 
of the rumble of traffic that rose through the win- 
dows ; he was not even conscious of gathering dusk, 
though the librarian began to snap on lights in dark 
corners. Wendell read on and on, giving an excel- 
lent imitation of a bookworm. 



2 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


Absorbed as he was in his book, you probably 
picture him as a slight, pale little chap, somewhat 
underweight for his ten years, with pale cheeks, a 
bulging brow, large horn spectacles, completely 
immersed in a volume of Emerson’s Essays. Not at 
all. He had a round, brown face, a strong, lithe 
body, excellent arm and leg muscles, and nice brown 
eyes that were in unusually good condition because 
he never overworked them on school books. He 
had never opened Emerson’s Essays in his life, and 
the large volume that just now held his attention 
so completely was a book of fairy tales. 

Wendell never read anything but fairy tales, 
unless it happened to be “ required reading ” at the 
select school for boys that he attended. In fairy 
tales he reveled. He read them in bed with the 
light on at night. He read them before breakfast 
and thus made himself late at school. He hid 
them behind his geography in study periods. He 
took them to Sunday school till his teacher found it 
out. He read them in the street when he went on 
an errand and greatly irritated traffic policemen by 
trying to cross the street, reading. Altogether, it 
was proverbial in Wendell’s family that he could 
always be kept out of mischief by a fairy tale. But 
oh ! what low marks he did get in school ! 

For he didn’t like to study. He liked baseball 
and swimming and roller-skating, but he didn’t 
like the capitals of the United States, nor dates, nor 
fractions. Particularly he didn’t like fractions. 

Thoroughly entranced, he read on till another boy 
reached across in front of his page to get a book 


THE WISHING STONE 


3 


lying on the table. The interruption roused him. 
He glanced up, saw that the lights were on and the 
afternoon waning, reluctantly rose and returned his 
volume to the shelves, and sauntered out with two 
books of fairy tales under his arm. 

He strolled through the upper corridor, with an 
approving glance at the great panel of the Muses, 
who looked to him like fairies on a large scale ; but 
his goal was the delivery room at the other end, with 
its wonderful paintings of Sir Galahad and the Quest 
of the Holy Grail, illustrations de luxe of one of 
Wendell’s favorite folk tales. Long he lingered 
over Sir Galahad arriving at the Castle of the Mai- 
dens, and long he gazed on the old spellbound king. 
He sighed deeply as he left the room at length. Oh, 
to have lived in those days ! 

Through a cross street he hurried along to the 
Esplanade. Here was fairy land indeed, had Wen- 
dell but had eyes to see it ! The sunset glow had 
not yet faded from behind the classic buildings on 
the river front, and twin necklaces of lights were 
strung between city and city. But it all seemed to 
the boy depressingly modern and unromantic. No 
suggestion to him of fairies or giants or witches or 
wishes. He walked along, still under the spell of 
his Library reading, regretting that there was not 
enough light to read as he walked, hurrying home to 
open his fairy books. 

From the Embankment, he turned into an old- 
fashioned street on the slope of Beacon Hill, and 
began to climb the heights. His great-great-grand- 
father had lived on that street, in Wendell’s present 


4 


irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


home, in the early days when fashion first built up 
the Hill. His great grandfather and his grandfather 
and his father, in turn, had lived there through many 
changes, as fickle fashion turned to newer avenues. 
As Wendell paused in front of his house, — a stern, 
square front, with a door whose solidity and heavy 
brass knocker and sentinel sidelights gave the im- 
pression that it had been put there to keep people 
out instead of to let them in, — he was hailed by a 
friend across the street. 

Sammy Davis’ father had a name that ended in 
idsky when he lived in Russia ; but after he came to 
America and moved into one floor of the decadent 
mansion next to Wendell’s, the family had decided 
to give an American twist to the name. So Davis 
it had become. 

Sammy Davis crossed to Wendell. 

‘‘ Where yer been ? ” 

“ Library.” 

‘‘ Get a book ? ” 

“ Yep.” 

“ Lessee it.” 

Sammy reached for the two books, grabbed them. 
Wendell grabbed in turn. Perfectly willing he was, 
of course, to show Sammy the books, but who doesn’t 
resent having things grabbed ? Sammy ran across 
the street ; Wendell followed, chased, ducked when 
Sammy dodged. There was an upright stone post 
at the inner edge of the sidewalk, barring vehicles 
from entering a narrow blind court that opened 
opposite Wendell’s house. Sammy dodged behind 
this, then out again, ran around in a circle and back 


THE WISHING STONE 


5 


to the post to dodge once more, then ran out again, 
then back to the post. The chase was prolonged and 
I suppose that they encircled that post a dozen 
times. 

When Wendell at length secured both books, he 
vaulted up and sat on top of the post, which was 
roughly hewn and small on top and not so very 
comfortable. Still, you could stick on. 

“ ril tell you, Sammy,’’ he said. “ You come 
over to-night, and we’ll each read one — oh Jehosha- 
phat ! ” He had suddenly remembered his home 
work, — a double allowance of fractions because 
he had failed to-day. 

“ Make it to-morrow night, Sammy,” he said. 
‘‘ I’ve got home work to-night.” 

A window on the fourth floor above was raised, 
a frowsy head stuck out. “ Sammee ! ” called a 
strident voice. “ Come in and eat.” 

‘‘ So long. Sorry to leave you,” said Sammy, and 
departed upward, while Wendell sat and mused on 
the post. Once more he drifted away into memories 
of fairy tales. At length he shook himself with a 
heartfelt though silent, “ Gee whiz ! I wish I were 
living in a fairy story right now, here in Boston,” 
and slid down and went in to dinner. 

Wendell’s family consisted of his father and 
mother and two older brothers, Alden and Otis. 
Just now there was also a visiting relative. Cousin 
Virginia, a sprightly young lady from New York, 
who tolerated Boston because it was only five hours 
from her delightful home town. She seemed to 
live in a constant state of amusement at things that 


6 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


Wendell’s people didn’t consider funny at all. Her 
greeting this time to Wendell was, 

Well, Ralph Waldo Theocritus Shakespeare, 
how’s the Public Library to-day ? ” 

Wendell didn’t see anything funny in that. He 
grunted. 

Did you happen to see that interesting new 
volume of correspondence between Socrates and 
Lady Jane Grey ? ” 

Wendell didn’t even know that this was intended 
to be funny. 

I was reading fairy stories,” he said. 

“ Shocking ! ” said Cousin Virginia. A descend- 
ant of the Puritans ! ” 

‘‘ As to that,” broke in Wendell’s brother Alden, 
who was a Junior at Harvard, specializing in Original 
Sources, “ the Puritans had some imagination. 
Look at witchcraft. Look at the Wishing Stone.” 

‘‘ What wishing stone ? ” asked Cousin Virginia. 
“ Pve seen the kind they set in a ring on a girl’s 
third finger. Do you mean that kind ? ” 

This bit of levity fell flat. 

“ The Wishing Stone,* ” said Alden, ‘‘ was a 
projecting boulder in the Common, somewhere near 
the present junction of the Beacon Street mall and 
the Oliver Wendell Holmes walk. There was a 
tradition that if one walked or ran nine times around 
the stone and then stood or sat on it and silently 
made a wish, the wish would come true.” 

“ And here you’ve shown me all the sights of 
Boston and left that out ! ” cried Cousin Virginia. 

* Winsor’s Memorial History of Boston, vol. I., p. 554. 


THE WISHING STONE 


7 


Why, it’s much more interesting than Bunker Hill 
Monument. Let us hie us thither by moonlight as 
soon as we finish dinner. Careful, Wendell ; if 
your eyes should pop right out, you couldn’t put 
them back.” 

‘‘ The stone,” said Alden, “ is no longer there.” 

‘‘ Oh, where is it, Alden ? ” cried Wendell. 

‘‘ According to the early diarists,” returned Alden, 
‘‘ most of those boulders on the Common were used 
for building stone from time to time. I doubt 
whether its history could possibly be traced.” 

‘‘ Well, why couldn’t they hang on to it when they 
had it ? ” said Wendell in deep disappointment. 
Then he went up to his room to do his home work, — 
that sad double lot of fractions. 


CHAPTER II 
THE PIXIE STARTS IT 


F course, Wendell’s intentions 
were excellent. He fully 
meant to devote himself 
to that home work, to forget 
the fairy stories that still 
hung like a mist about his 
brain and tackle those frac- 
tions like a man. But we 
all know how it is, — just as 
soon as we have looked at 
this one funny page of the 
newspaper, or read this one 
verse, or found out what the next chapter is about, 
we will certainly settle right down to business. There 
was the arithmetic. There were the two fairy books 
from the Library. Unless you are a seraph with 
wings and always do your duty, you will not be sur- 
prised to hear that Wendell treated himself to just 
one peek at the fairy stories before doing his home 
work, and that he never thought of those fractions 
till he heard his mother’s step on the stairs, when 
he shoved the fairy book into his desk drawer and 
opened his arithmetic at random. 

8 



THE PIXIE STARTS IT 


9 


“ Bedtime, my son. Have you finished your 
lessons ? ’’ asked his mother. 

‘‘ No ! Bothersome lot ! Can’t make anything 
of this example — have to give me another half- 
hour,” muttered Wendell, not really wishing to de- 
ceive his dear mother, but a little bit ashamed to 
tell her how he had neglected his duty. 

“ I’m sorry, dear, but you’ll have to do it in the 
morning. You mustn’t lose sleep. And your brain 
will be clearer then. I’ll tell Jane to call you half 
an hour early.” 

“ Many are called, but few get up,” as the proverb 
hath it. Wendell, next morning, was not one of the 
few. Jane’s call fell on sleepy ears. He turned 
over for one more snooze, woke an hour later to find 
himself ’way behind time, hustled through his dress- 
ing and his breakfast, and was off to school with 
lessons unprepared, — a sad thing that happened 
only too often in his easy-going life. 

He managed to slide through most of his recita- 
tions, badly but not disgracefully, until he came to 
the arithmetic class. I might tell you in detail of 
his tragic floundering through problems that he was 
supposed to have prepared, of his guilty acknowledg- 
ment that he had not made up the delinquencies 
of yesterday and the day before, and of the stern 
wrath that was visited upon him by the arithmetic 
teacher, a strict and disciplinary spinster, whose 
patience he had often tried in the past. But this is 
not a school story. I have to record only such a part 
of his troublous career as led directly to the wonder- 
ful adventure of the Wishing Stone. So, briefly, 


10 


irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


he was kept in,” with three days’ problems to finish 
before he could go home. 

His teacher, who bore the singularly happy name 
of Miss Ounce, left him alone in the deserted school- 
room. She had a lesson to give in another part of 
the building. Wendell pulled his book in front of 
him, flipped the pages open to the proper place, ran 
his fingers through his hair, and remained in that 
attitude, which may have denoted either deep con- 
centration or utter dejection. He read the first 
problem through twice, and it had no more meaning 
for him than Dante’s Inferno in the original tongue. 

‘‘ Jee-rusalem ! ” he said aloud after a long pause. 

“ Can I be of any assistance ? ” asked a friendly 
voice. It came from a little being perched on the 
desk in front of him, who certainly had not been 
there a moment before. He was about the size of 
a two-year-old child, but he had the face of an old 
man, a genial old man with twinkling eyes. His 
body was very round and quite filled his suit of blue 
knitted jersey, and his arms and legs were long and 
spindling. 

‘‘ For goodness’ sake, who are you ? ” gasped 
Wendell. 

“ I’m a Pixie,” said the being. 

‘‘ You are ? ” said Wendell. ‘‘ I didn’t know 
there were any — out of fairy stories.” 

But I’m in a fairy story,” explained the Pixie 
politely. I’m in the same fairy story you’re in.” 

'' Am I in one ? ” said the startled Wendell. 

‘‘ Since last night,” declared the Pixie. “ You 
wished to be, you know, on the Wishing Stone, after 


THE PIXIE STARTS IT 


11 


you had run around it nine times. It’s a sure 
charm.” 

“ The Wishing Stone ! Is that the old Wishing 
Stone — the alley post ? ” 

‘‘ Somewhat fallen into disuse,” assented the 
Pixie, ‘‘ but never-the-less the Wishing Stone.” 

“ Well, I never ! ” said Wendell. 

It was so stupendous, such an unbelievable piece 
of good fortune, that at first he did not grasp its 
possibilities. Then his eye fell on the open book lying 
on his desk. 

“ Say ! ” he exclaimed. If that’s all true, if 
I’m really living in a fairy story, there ought to be 
some way of settling junk like this in short order.” 
He gave a vindictive thump to the arithmetic. 

‘‘ That’s what I came for,” said the Pixie. ‘‘ I 
thought I saw a business opening here.” 

You mean — ” faltered Wendell. 

‘‘ Why, I’ll do your problems for you. That’s 
easy. And you do three tasks for me.” 

‘‘ Three ? ” 

“ Yes, it’s always three,” said the Pixie. 

‘‘ Say, I think I ought to get more than just these 
problems for three. I think you ought to do my 
home work till the end of the term.” 

Just as soon,” said the Pixie. ‘‘No trouble to 
me. Is it a bargain ? ” 

“ But what will you want me to do ? ” said 
Wendell. 

“ I don’t know what I want you to do,” returned 
the Pixie. “ How should I know ? Take a chance. 
Be a sport.” 


12 


irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


All right/’ said Wendell. I will. Here are 
the problems.” 

‘‘ Look in your desk,” said the Pixie immediately. 

Wendell opened it. There lay three sheets of large 
pad paper, covered with problems completely solved. 
Wendell’s name and the date were written at the 
top in his own handwriting. The work was done 
neatly enough to pass, but not so excessively neatly 
as to arouse suspicion. 

Well, you are some little fiend at arithmetic,” 
pronounced Wendell with great relief. 

‘‘ Glad you are satisfied,” said the Pixie. Of 
course you understand that if you can’t perform my 
tasks, you belong to me.” 

“ Well, I might as well belong to you as to Miss 
Ounce,” ruminated Wendell. Come on with your 
first task. I suppose it will be water in a sieve from 
the Charles River or something like that. They 
always are.” 

‘‘ I should say not,” said the Pixie with scorn in 
his voice. ‘‘ That might be all very well for the old 
Kobold that lives under Flag Staff Hill. It’s just 
his style, in fact. He’s using the same stuff he did 
when Merlin was practicing. No, I like to advance 
with the best thought of the time. I’m no back 
number. Trust me, /’ll find something up to 
date.” 

Well, speed up,” said Wendell. ‘‘ What do you 
want me to do ? ” 

‘‘ How should I know ? ” said the Pixie. ‘‘ Give me 
time. I’ll drop around tonight and let you know.” 

Just as he was speaking, the door opened, and in 


THE PIXIE STARTS IT 


13 


came Miss Ounce, and maybe Wendell didn’t jump ! 
He started so conspicuously that Miss Ounce fixed 
him with an accusing eye and said, 

‘‘ Well, Wendell, up to mischief, I suppose, instead 
of doing your work.” 

‘‘ No, Miss Ounce,” said Wendell, noting with 
relief that the Pixie was nowhere in sight, and 
promptly handed over his papers. 

“ Um, um ! ” murmured Miss Ounce. ‘‘ Very 
good ! Might be neater. Every one right, though. 
Now, Wendell, why is it that when you can do such 
excellent work as this, you have such a shocking daily 
record ? Yes, shocking is the word.” 

Wendell knew the answer to that, but he didn’t 
give it. He took his lecture silently, standing first 
on one foot and then on the other, but his mind was 
on the magic task that the Pixie was to set him, and 
as soon as he could he slid out of the room. 


CHAPTER III 


THE PIXIE’S FIRST TASK 

HE Pixie came that evening, true 
to his word. Wendell, undis- 
turbed by fractions, luxuriously 
idling over his fairy books, looked 
up suddenly and there sat the 
funny little fellow on the foot of 
the bed. 

“ How are you ? ” said the 
Pixie. ‘‘ I didn’t have time to say 
good-bye to-day. Your Miss 
Ounce turned the door-handle too 
quickly.” 

‘‘ That’s all right,” said Wendell. ‘‘ Are you ready 
to spring my first task yet ? ” 

“ Yes, said the Pixie gleefully. “ And you 

can’t say it isn’t up to the minute. You must bring 
me an aeroplane that you have found traveling under- 
ground.” 

‘‘ Why, there’s no such thing,” said Wendell 
vexedly. An aeroplane traveling underground ! 
How silly ! An aeroplane doesn’t travel under- 
ground. How can it ? ” 

“ Don’t ask me,” shrugged the Pixie. ‘‘ How 
14 



THE PIXIWS FIRST TASK 


15 


should I know ? You can’t expect me to make up 
the tasks and think up the answers too. Be reason- 
able.” And he vanished. 

Wendell was greatly cast down. 

“ It’s a fool task,” he said as he went to bed. ‘‘ In 
fact, it’s impossible.” 

He woke with a sense of calamity hanging over him. 
Really, it was almost as bad as having fractions on 
his mind. He was so serious at breakfast that 
Cousin Virginia asked him if he was practicing to be 
a Puritan Ancestor at a fancy-dress ball. This levity 
seemed to Wendell ill-timed. 

The brooding anxiety lingered with him all through 
school time. What if he couldn’t do the task ? 
What would it be like to belong to a Pixie ? He 
didn’t like the prospect. 

He came out of his school on Beacon Street, still 
with the cloud lowering over him. He felt desperate. 
He thought of going over to the train yards of South 
Station and stealing a ride in an empty cattle-car 
bound for the prairies of the West. He meditated 
stowing away on a ship bound for Timbuctoo or 
Guam or somewhere. Just then a tempting truck 
passed him “ south ’’-bound on Beacon Street. It 
was low and it was going slowly, and altogether it 
offered just the right opportunity to ‘‘ hook ” a ride. 
Wendell seized the opportunity and the truck to- 
gether ; and dodged down inside unseen by the driver. 

In Allston, Wendell dropped out again. His mind 
was somewhat relieved by this pleasant adventure, 
and he didn’t wish to get too far from home. He 
hailed an electric for Park Street. 


16 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


Now, you may not believe it, but the first thing 
he saw when he got on the car was an aeroplane — a 
toy aeroplane about four feet long, carried in the 
arms of a freckle-faced boy. 

Wendell sat down by the boy. 

‘‘ Does it go ? ” he said. 

‘‘ Sure it does,” said the freckle-faced boy. 

How .? ” said Wendell. 

You wind it up,” said the boy. 

It was apparently a perfect model of a large aero- 
plane, a fascinating toy. The freckle-faced boy 
let him hold it, let him examine it closely. It was 
a joy to see such a perfect mechanical model on that 
small scale ; but suddenly it brought a leaden lump 
to Wendell’s heart. It reminded him of his im- 
possible task. 

Where you taking it ? ” asked Wendell. 

Home. I live in Medford.” 

‘‘ Change at Park Street ? ” said Wendell. 

‘‘ Scollay Square,” said the boy. They were now 
opposite the Public Garden. 

‘‘ I’ll bet it can travel,” said Wendell. 

‘‘ You’ve said it,” replied the boy. ‘‘ But,” he 
added, grinning, as the electric sloped down into the 
Subway, ‘‘ this is the first time it ever traveled under- 
ground.” 

Wendell nearly bounced from his seat. “ Say ! ” 
he almost yelled. What’ll you take for that aero- 
plane ? ” 

Don’t want to sell it,” said the boy. “ I just got 
it.” 

“ But if you should sell it,” persisted Wendell. 


THE PIXIWS FIRST TASK 


17 


“ But I ain’t a-goin’ to sell it,” said the freckle- 
faced boy. 

‘‘ But if you ever should want to sell it,” reiterated 
Wendell. ‘‘ Say, there’s something, you know, you’d 
rather have.” 

‘‘ Well, I don’t know. What, f’r instance ? ” 

“ I’ll give you anything you like for it,” offered 
Wendell, who was rapidly formulating a plan in his 
mind. Wouldn’t you like a gun, now ? ” 

‘‘ I’ve got a gun,” said the boy. 

Don’t you want a dog ? ” pleaded Wendell. 

‘‘ Is it a trick dog ? ” asked the boy. 

‘‘ Do you want a trick dog ? ” questioned Wendell. 

“ Yes, I do.” 

“ Well, it is a trick dog,” said Wendell. Just 
you get out here,” for meantime they were nearing 
Park Street, ‘‘ and I’ll show him to you. I live right 
near here.” 

“ What tricks can he do ? ” asked the boy. 

You wait and ask him,” said Wendell. 

Once out of the Subway, Wendell left the boy on a 
bench on the Common, and sprinted across the green 
expanse, in spite of the official sign, 

KEEP OFF THE GRASS 
IF YOU WANT TO ROAM 
JOIN THE NAVY 

He shot around the corner of his street, circled the 
Wishing Stone rapidly nine times, climbed on top of 
it and said to himself, 

‘‘ I wish for a trick dog that will do any trick you 
tell him to.” 


18 


IT’S YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


Woof ! Woof ! ” said an ingratiating voice 
near him, and there was the dog. He was of no 
special breed, just a lost-dog breed of mongrel, but 
he had the look in his eye that means a dog will do 
anything in the world for you if he loves you. 

‘‘ Sit up and beg, old fellow,” commanded Wendell, 
and the dog sat up with an excited little bark. 

‘‘ Heel,” ordered Wendell, who had no time to 
lose, and the two chased excitedly through the streets 
to the Common, and there, to Wendell’s relief, waited 
the impatient boy with his aeroplane. 

“ Here he is,” said Wendell. “ Here’s your trick 
dog.” 

The freckle-faced boy looked him over critically. 

“ He ain’t much to look at,” he said. 

Well,” said Wendell, ‘‘ you didn’t say you 
wanted him to take a prize in a beauty contest. You 
asked for a trick dog.” 

‘‘ What can he do ? ” asked the boy. 

You just try him,” said Wendell. 

‘‘ Dead dog ! ” said the freckle-faced boy. 

The dog dropped flat and rolled over motionless. 
He didn’t even blink an eye. 

“ Live dog ! ” said the boy, and up he jumped and 
frisked and wagged and was very much alive. 

Is that all he can do ? ” asked the boy. 

‘‘ No, he can do any trick,” said Wendell. “ I don’t 
know’ em all myself. He knew ’em when I got him.” 

‘‘ Where’d you get him ? ” asked the boy sus- 
piciously. 

“ Given to me,” said Wendell. “ Let’s have the 
aeroplane.” 


THE PIXIHS FIRST TASK 


19 


The boy hesitated. Perhaps he was afraid that 
the dog had been stolen or found by Wendell, and 
might soon be claimed by the police. But the dog 
himself settled the question. He jumped up on the 
freckle-faced boy and “ woof ”-ed engagingly ; and 
when the freckle-faced boy stooped to pat him, he 
licked the boy’s freckles so warmly and wetly and 
scratchily and lovingly that the boy hastily handed 
the aeroplane to Wendell and gathered the dog right 
up in his arms ; and the bargain was complete. 

Wendell had a few pangs himself. The dog had 
found a warm place in his heart too. But he con- 
soled himself with the reminder that he could wish 
for another just like him any time. And he had the 
aeroplane. 

He took it over to the parade ground on the other 
side of the Common, and tried it out. It flew 
beautifully. On its own merits, apart from Wen- 
dell’s need to satisfy the Pixie’s demand, it was a 
very desirable possession. 

It struck Wendell as strange that, whatever ad- 
ventures the Wishing Stone had thus far brought 
him, seemed to increase the number of things he had 
to wish for. He had never yearned for an aeroplane 
before, but now it seemed to him that he couldn’t 
bear to part with this one to the Pixie. Of course, he 
had often thought he would like a dog ; but now that 
the Wishing Stone had brought to life this wagging, 
barking, loving morsel of a pup, Wendell was almost 
unhappy without him. He wondered if it would be 
that way all the time, — if every granted wish would 
produce more ungranted ones. If that were so, it 


20 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


would really be happier not to begin the endless 
chain, not to have the first wish granted. That was 
the way it turned out in a good many of the fairy 
stories, — the black pudding, for instance, on the end 
of the old woman’s nose. 

A great truth was almost within Wendell’s grasp 
for the moment, — that it is not the attainment of a 
wish, but the effort to attain it that brings us happi- 
ness : that right activity, not idle possession, is man’s 
happiest endowment. Wendell had his finger on 
this key to happiness, but as he was only a small boy 
flying a toy aeroplane, and not a great philosopher, 
he did not grasp the key, but let his thoughts wander 
to the Pixie, who would probably be all ready with 
another task after dinner. 

When the Pixie suddenly appeared that evening 
(sitting this time on top of the chiffonier, with his 
thin long legs drooping over the drawers), Wendell 
said triumphantly. 

Well, I got the aeroplane.” He stroked it lov- 
ingly where it stood balanced on his desk. 

‘‘ Why, yes, it’s an aeroplane, all right,” granted 
the Pixie ; but it isn’t traveling underground.” 

But it was when I found it,” protested Wendell. 

A boy had it in the Subway.” 

The Pixie looked crestfallen. 

I never thought of that,” he admitted. ‘‘ You 
win.” 

Tell me all about it,” he added with some curi- 
osity. 

Wendell told him the whole thing, but the Pixie 
looked grave when he mentioned the Wishing Stone. 


THE PIXIHS FIRST TASK 


21 


You’re not using them up too fast, are you ? ” 
he said doubtfully. ‘‘ That makes two, you know.” 

Two what ? ” said Wendell. 

Why, two wishes. You only have three, you 
know.” 

Is that a fact ? ” asked Wendell anxiously. “ I 
didn’t know. Is that straight ? ” 

“ Of course,” said the Pixie. Everything goes 
by threes in fairy stories.” 

“ I’m afraid you’re right,” said Wendell gloomily. 
“ I know I am,” said the Pixie. ‘‘ Well, are you 
ready for the next task ? ” 

‘‘ All right. What comes next ? ” asked Wendell. 


CHAPTER IV 


WENDELL FINDS AN UNEXPECTED ALLY 

IE Pixie brightened a 
bit. ‘‘ I have a poser 
this time,” he said. 

You must find an 
acorn on Acorn Street.” 

It was Wendell’s turn 
to look crestfallen. As 
every Beacon Hill boy 
knows, Acorn Street is 
only one block long, or 
rather one block short, 
and there isn’t an oak on it. In fact, there isn’t a 
tree of any kind : there isn’t room for one. 

The Pixie looked delighted, but he tried to assume 
a nonchalant air to hide his triumph. He swung 
one knee over the other carelessly and tilted his chin. 

“ We-ell ! ” said Wendell, a bit discouraged. But 
the thought came to him that in every fairy story 
the knight who passes the first of three tests always 
squeaks through the other two also, so of course 
there must be some way out. 

I’ll have to be going,” said the Pixie in an off- 
hand way. You’ll find your arithmetic paper in 
the desk drawer. See you to-morrow night.” 

22 



WENDELL FINDS AN UNEXPECTED ALLY 23 

Hold on,” said Wendell. You forgot the aero- 
plane.” 

“ Forgot it ? How i ” 

Aren’t you going to take it along ? ” 

‘‘ Good gracious, no,” returned the Pixie peevishly. 
‘‘ I can’t take care of all the truck I tell people to 
bring me. I don’t run a junk shop. Keep it your- 
self. I don’t want it.” 

Now that was great luck for Wendell. It brought 
a large amount of pleasure into an existence which 
would otherwise have been most cheerless ; for the 
unsolved problem loomed before him of finding an 
acorn on Acorn Street. 

He chose to go through Willow Street on his way 
to school next morning, which brought him of course 
to the head of Acorn Street. There was the neat little 
sign fastened on the brick wall, — a bunch of three 
acorns and the name in artistic lettering, — evi- 
dently the creation of an artist brain and fashioned 
by a master hand. Wendell had an inspiration. He 
would cut out one of those acorns and take it to the 
Pixie as a last resort. Of course, he might be ar- 
rested and put in jail for mutilating a street sign ; 
and after all his trouble, the Pixie might not consider 
it an adequate acorn ; still the suggestion was some- 
thing to fall back upon. 

Standing at the top of the extremely steep slope 
which is Acorn Street, Wendell surveyed the pros- 
pect doubtfully. He saw a narrow cobble-stoned 
roadway ; on his left, a trim row of doll houses, each 
with its projecting doorstep and old-fashioned scraper, 
its spotless white door and shining brass knocker, and 


24 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


a narrow brick sidewalk where two thin people could 
just walk abreast ; on his right, a long brick wall, 
broken by neat back doors, and a still narrower 
brick sidewalk where only one very thin person could 
walk abreast. Nowhere was there a tree, nor room 
to plant a tree. There were a few straggling blades 
of grass between the cobble-stones and between the 
bricks, but not a crevice large enough to accommodate 
a single acorn. 

A postman came along, whistling cheerily. Wen- 
dell stood olf the brick pavement to let him pass. 
Perhaps the postman could help. 

‘‘ This is Acorn Street, isn’t it ? ” said Wendell. 

Some people call it that,” responded the postman 
jokingly. ‘‘ Millionaires’ Alley, I call it.” 

“ Why, are they all millionaires here ? ” asked 
Wendell. 

“ Just about,” said the postman ; ‘‘ and I knew 
this street when there were three families in every 
house, and the walls that black with dirt, you could 
write your name on ’em in chalk. But these million- 
aire artists discovered it. Nuts, I call ’em, with 
their glass studios on the roof and their Packard 
cars that have to back out whenever the ice truck 
comes through.” 

Wendell felt that they were wandering from the 
point. 

‘‘ But did you ever see an acorn here ? ” he asked. 

Nope,” said the postman. No acorns here. 
They named it that, I guess, because it isn’t big 
enough to be named for a full-grown tree like Walnut 
or Chestnut. Peanut Street Pd call it.” 


WENDELL FINDS AN UNEXPECTED ALLY 25 


‘‘ Well, I’ve got to get to school,” said Wendell. 
He jogged down the short but precipitous length of 
treeless Acorn Street, and so on to school. 

After school, as he started for home, the Public 
Garden tempted him, and he turned in from Beacon 
Street. It was a warm October day, and the Garden 
wore an air of resuscitated midsummer. He sat 
down on a bench on the Charles Street side, facing 
the lake, which looked very attractive, although it 
was no longer bright with the little boating parties 
and slow-gliding swan-boats of summer. A flock 
of doves, seeing Wendell settled to stay, fluttered 
down all around him for expected crumbs ; and some 
busy little sparrows, who are always more alert than 
the doves and capture twice as much food, hopped 
along the path. Wendell felt in his pockets for stray 
provender, but without results. A gray squirrel, 
bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, loped through the 
rustling leaves, and ran up the bench that Wendell 
occupied. He had a very busy air as of one who 
stops for a moment only, in the midst of pressing 
engagements. A slight inadvertent movement of 
Wendell’s sent him scurrying down again. He 
frisked through the dead leaves, dug up something 
of interest from among them and sat up on his hind 
legs to handle it. Wendell saw that it was an acorn 
and noticed that he was sitting under a young oak. 
‘‘ Pity they couldn’t plant a few of them where they 
belong,” he said bitterly. 

After the squirrel’s desertion, he sat there a few 
minutes longer, but the pigeons, too, soon found that 
he had no picnic to offer them and flew off in a flock 


26 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


to a small girl with bare knees, accompanied by a 
French-bonneted nurse, who had a whole bag of pop- 
corn. He got up, then, and, kicking the leaves before 
him, shuffled out to the wide entrance at Charles 
and Beacon Streets. 

A trafflc policeman, very military-looking in trim 
khaki, was holding up the Charles Street trafflc while 
automobiles spun up and down Beacon Street. Wen- 
dell, pausing on the curb, saw him suddenly check 
the Beacon Street trafflc, while still holding the 
Charles Street lines at bay. The large square ex- 
panse was quite clear except for the khaki figure with 
both arms uplifted. Charles Street truck-drivers 
prepared to speed up. Beacon Street automobilists 
craned their heads out to see what was delaying the 
long double lines. Foot passengers lining the curb- 
stones looked impatient and watched the trafflc man 
for the signal that did not come. Apparently he had 
forgotten what he was there for. 

Then a smile spread along the curb-stone ranks, — 
a smile that merged into a ripple of laughter quite 
unusual among self-contained Boston pedestrians, 
as the impatient waiters saw that the majestic khaki 
offlcer was holding up scores of important citizens 
to let one small gray squirrel cross the street. 

It was Wendell’s little friend of the Public Garden, 
still intent on pressing business, who, unmindful of 
all safety-first rules, was taking a diagonal cut from 
corner to corner across one of the busiest thorough- 
fares of Boston. 

“ I know that squirrel. He lives in Louisburg 
Square,” Wendell heard a man say. “ I know him by 


WENDELL FINDS AN UNEXPECTED ALLY 27 


the look in his eye.” Which shows how cocksure 
of their own judgments some people are. 

The squirrel made the farther corner in safety. 
The traffic man gave the signal. The crowd surged 
forward, Wendell with them. He crossed by right 
angles to the squirrel’s corner and saw that busy 
little beast frisking along Charles Street, with the 
deliberate purpose of one who knows his goal, and 
then turning up into quiet Chestnut Street. 

Wendell followed him, as it was his direct route 
also ; but it was not until the squirrel turned from 
Chestnut Street into West Cedar Street that Wendell 
saw with fast-beating heart that he carried in his 
mouth an acorn for his winter storehouse. If the 
squirrel should — oh, if only he should — ! Yes, 
opposite Acorn Street he paused. It was evident 
that he had intended to proceed along West Cedar 
Street to Mount Vernon Street, which bounds Louis- 
burg Square on the nearer side ; but on the door-step 
of a West Cedar Street house sat a cat, a sleek gray 
pussy, and when she saw the squirrel, she grew tense 
all over and began to quiver, commencing at the tip 
of her tail ; and the squirrel saw her — and turned up 
into Acorn Street, 

Would he drop it ? oh, would he ? Would no 
yapping puppy come to the rescue ? Would no tid- 
bit of garbage tempt him to investigation ? No, 
Acorn Street appeared deserted by man and beast. 
Its aristocratic spotlessness offered no hope of a 
bread crust or even a banana peel. 

But just then one of the spotless white doors 
opened. A baby girl emerged right in the path of 


28 


irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


the squirrel. He was not alarmed : baby girls had 
been a bountiful providence to him since his infancy. 
But this baby was a determined little maiden whose 
brain and hand worked in unison. Quick as thought 
she grabbed the squirrel’s beautiful bushy tail, and 
quite as quickly she loosed it, for the little gray chap 
dropped his acorn and turned his sharp teeth upon 
that plump little hand. Then, as he felt himself 
free, he scurried up the hill without stopping for any- 
thing, and turned westward toward Louisburg 
Square. When Wendell passed through the Square, 
the acorn safe in his trousers pocket, the squirrel was 
still chattering excitedly on the branch of a tree, 
scolding every one in particular and in general for 
the loss of his acorn. 

“ It’s a shame, old chap,” said Wendell, pausing 
to peer at him through the iron railing. ‘‘ But I’ll 
bring you a bag of peanuts to make up for it, you old 
life-saver, you.” 

The Pixie wore an air of quiet triumph when he 
appeared in Wendell’s room that evening. So did 
Wendell. 

Well,” said the Pixie. ‘‘ Do you give up this 
time ? ” 

“ Not this time,” said Wendell, quietly but with 
great enjoyment, and he fished the acorn out of his 
pocket and laid it on the desk in front of the Pixie, 
who glared at it savagely. 

Well,” said Wendell, ‘‘ are you satisfied ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, yes,” said the Pixie, ironically. ‘‘ It’s an 
acorn. I know an acorn when I see one, thank you. 
But there aren’t any oaks on Acorn Street.” 



SHE GRABBED THE SQUIRREL’S BEAUTIFUL BUSHY TAIL 





WENDELL FINDS AN UNEXPECTED ALLY 29 


“ I know it. But a squirrel brought it all the way 
from the Public Garden and dropped it there. I 
saw him.’’ 

“ A common or garden squirrel ? ” asked the 
Pixie incredulously. 

‘‘ Garden — when I saw him,” said Wendell. 
“ But he might live on the Common for all I know.” 

“ Some nutty squirrel,” said the Pixie dejectedly, 
‘‘ to block my game that way ! ” He sat fingering 
the acorn as if he hoped it would turn into something 
else. 

“ Ah ! ” he said, brightening suddenly. “ But 
Pve thought of something for the third test that’s a 
sticker.’^ 

‘‘ What is it ? A postage stamp ? ” asked Wen- 
dell. 

‘‘ You won’t feel so funny, young man, when you 
know what it is,” said the Pixie, glaring. 


CHAPTER V 


A FROG SOMEWHAT OUT OF THE COMMON 

SUPPOSE it’s a beacon from 
Beacon Hill,” said Wendell. 

“ Now, that’s not bad,” con- 
ceded the Pixie. ‘‘ I may use 
that some time. No,” trium- 
phantly, ‘‘ it’s a frog from the 
Frog Pond.” 

‘‘ Je-hoshaphat ! ” exclaimed 
Wendell. ‘‘ You’ve got me this 
time.” 

The Pixie grinned. ‘‘ I cer- 
tainly think so,” said he. 

For if ever a frog made its lair in the Frog Pond, 
it was long before the present memory of man. The 
Frog Pond is a pool on the Beacon Street side of 
Boston Common. In shape it is somewhat like a lima 
bean. It has a concrete bottom. Near one end 
there is a gushing fountain and at the other a drain, 
that keep the water fresh. In warm weather, hun- 
dreds of Boston children go swimming ” there every 
day, — brown-skinned, black-eyed Italians, little Rus- 
sian Jews, a small sprinkling of native Bostonians, 
quite a large handful of little negroes, Parthians 
30 



A FROG SOMEWHAT OUT OF THE COMMON 31 


and Medes and Elamites,” no doubt, and “ the 
dwellers in Mesopotamia ” ; but never, never a frog. 

In winter, when the pool is frozen, it is a skating 
pond, and Flag Staff Hill, just above it, makes an 
ideal start for a sled to go whizzing down across the 
icy glare of the Frog Pond. Popular opinion has it 
that it was this very slide on the Common that was 
made famous in the winter of 1774 and 1775 by the 
contest between the youngsters of Boston and 
General Gage’s redcoats, then quartered on the 
town, who tried to spoil the slide with sand and 
ashes. Instead of submitting timidly, the boys 
carried their complaint to General Gage himself, 
who assured them that they should be undisturbed 
in future and said in comment, ‘‘ How can we hope 
to beat the notion of liberty out of this people ? The 
very boys breathe the air of liberty ! ” 

Historical truth compels me to state, however, 
that the Frog Pond was not the scene of this interest- 
ing passage. It was undoubtedly on School Street, 
in the neighborhood of the historic Latin School, 
that the boys’ slide was spoiled, and it was done by 
the servant of General Haldimand, who was in com- 
mand under General Gage, though General Gage 
was indeed the court of appeal that decided in favor 
of the Latin School boys. As to the servant, I think 
his idea was a good one, for I have disastrously tried 
to walk down School Street myself on an icy day. 

But if the Frog Pond was not the actual site of this 
historic strike for liberty, it may be called the direct 
spiritual descendant of whatever frozen pool had that 
honor. For the boys and girls of the Frog Pond in 


32 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


these modern days ‘‘ breathe the air of liberty ’’ ; 
and the grown people of Boston know it, and the 
police know it. The Frog Pond, within close view 
of the Massachusetts State House, within three 
minutes’ walk of Boston’s financial center, and 
within a stone’s throw of the shopping district, be- 
longs exclusively to the youngsters. Any grown 
person may occupy a bench on the walk and watch 
the fun, but he mustn’t complain if he happens to 
get splashed. Neither must he object to large groups 
of girls and boys all around him, struggling to ex- 
change wet bathing suits for dry clothes without 
the shelter of a dressing room. The youngsters are 
required to put on their bathing suits at home ; but 
after the swim who can be expected to traverse 
blocks and blocks of city streets in a wet bathing 
suit ^ They do the best they can to create for them- 
selves a privacy that doesn’t exist. They bring 
newspapers and old blankets and sit under them on 
the grass to dress ; they form close rings around 
each other at critical moments ; and the Mayor of 
Boston consents, because he is very human and very 
sensible ; and the Common police, who have all 
known the delights of the Frog Pond and the diffi- 
culties of dressing in public in their own boyhood 
days, turn their backs ; and the majority of staid 
Boston citizens, walking home to dinner past the 
Pond after office hours, approves genially, and is of 
the opinion that the small minority that disapproves 
would better walk home by some other path. 

To the Frog Pond, then, Wendell bent his steps 
the following afternoon. He wore his bathing suit 


A FROG SOMEWHAT OUT OF THE COMMON 33 

under his shirt and trousers, though it was somewhat 
late in the season for bathing. The warm weather 
had brought out a number of adventurous souls, 
Sammy Davis among them. 

“ Hi, Wendell, come on in,” yelled Sammy. 

‘‘ How is it ^ ” asked Wendell. 

‘‘ Fine ! Warm as can be.” 

Wendell didn’t believe it. He knew the old trick 
of telling the newest comer how warm the water is. 
He stood undecided on the brick walk. 

Seen any frogs in there, Sammy ? ” he asked. 

Of course it was a foolish question, but it popped 
out before he could check it. 

‘‘ Frogs ? Naw ! ” said Sammy in exaggerated 
denial. 

Frogs ! Yah ! ” said the other boys, and hooted 
in derision. 

“ I seen a frog,” piped up a bright-eyed colored 
baby in a bathing suit improvised from underclothes, 
who sat on the stone curb and paddled his wriggling 
brown feet in the water. 

‘‘ Seen a frog ! Yes, like fun you did,” jeered his 
big brother. 

‘‘ I did seen a frog,” reiterated the baby. ‘‘ There, 
on the grass. There he is now.” 

Wendell looked where the brown linger pointed. 
Could he believe his eyes ? There on the grassy 
slope of the hill below the Soldiers’ Monument 
actually sat and blinked a green and speckled frog. 

The brown baby and Wendell were not the only 
people who had seen him. A shout went up from the 
water, and at the same time an echoing shout arose 


34 


irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


from a group of small boys who were climbing around 
on a captured German tank on the crest of the hill. 
The boys on the tank began to scramble down. 

The frog sat and blinked stupidly. It seemed 
dazed or injured, but as the tank contingent cast 
themselves down the hill, it leaped with that sur- 
prising suddenness that characterizes frogs, and with 
its long legs shooting behind, plunged head first down 
the slope and into the water. For the first time 
within the memory of this generation, there was a 
frog in the Frog Pond, 

Wendell cast off his clothes and shoes and shot in 
after it. Whew ! but the water was cold ! And 
how to locate the frog ? A needle in a hay stack 
couldn’t compare with it. 

Excitement reigned in the Frog Pond. Every one 
gave chase. The water was not clear enough to show 
the reptile plainly, but occasional glimpses of it 
spurred oil its hunters. They made futile grabs 
below the water ; they swam and dove after that 
frog. Several times some boy’s hand closed over 
it, only to find its slippery length wriggling through 
his fingers. At length it was captured by Izzy 
Icklebaum, who brought it triumphantly to the 
surface and held it in a tight grasp. 

“ Oh, Izzy, give it to me,” begged Wendell. “ I’ll 
give you anything you want for it.” 

Izzy lent a business-like ear to this offer. 

‘‘ You will, eh ” he said, showing a large degree 
of interest. ‘‘ Will you give me your aeroplane 1 ” 

In spite of his deep regret, there was not even a 
moment’s hesitation on Wendell’s part. 


A FROG SOMEWHAT OUT OF THE COMMON 35 


‘‘ It’s yours,” he said. “ Here, give us the frog 
here in my stocking. Put your hands ’way in with 
him. That’s the big idea. Now I’ve got him.” 

Released by Izzy, the frog gave a futile leap, only 
to find itself entangled in the stocking foot. The 
capture was complete. Wendell put on his clothes 
over his wet bathing suit, slipped his feet stockingless 
into his shoes, slung the frog over his shoulder and 
started for home. 

‘‘ I’ll come in for it this aft.,” shouted Izzy after 
him. 

“ Right-o,” returned Wendell over his shoulder, 
and sped on, his heart lightened of a tremendous 
burden, the last of the three tasks accomplished. 

True to his word, Izzy came over an hour later and 
bore off the aeroplane. Wendell tried not to care. 
He pinched the frog gently through the stocking to 
make sure it was there, and anticipated the Pixie’s 
disappointment. 

The Pixie certainly was surprised. Wendell 
handed him the stocking and told him to feel inside, 
and when the Pixie’s hand came in contact with the 
cold smooth skin of the frog, it gave the Pixie his 
first shock. He got his second when Froggy, catch- 
ing a glimpse of light through the opening, leaped 
violently out, almost in the Pixie’s face. 

Well, I suppose that’s settled,” said the Pixie, 
when the frog had finally come to rest in a corner of 
the room. You really found it in the Frog Pond ^ ” 
Yes, I did,” said Wendell, “ really and truly. 
So now I’ve finished the tasks. I’m glad to say.” 

‘‘ Well, I must say it’s a great relief to me,” re- 


36 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


turned the Pixie. “ I never do know what to do with 
boys when I find them belonging to me. It’s a great 
responsibility. I’m glad I’m not a mother.” 

In spite of his relief, the Pixie continued to look 
gloomy and to fiddle uneasily with a pencil on Wen- 
dell’s desk. At last he broke out : 

“ Of course, I’m not doubting your word, but you 
know and I know that you couldn’t find a frog in the 
Frog Pond because there aren’t any.” 

‘‘ But this one really was,” said Wendell, distressed 
to see that the Pixie was not quite convinced that he 
spoke the truth. “ I saw him jump in myself, and 
Izzy Icklebaum fished him out.” 

“ Well, it’s very fishy ! I can’t account for it,” 
said the Pixie. 

He remained in a brown study for several seconds ; 
then a bright thought illumined his little old face. 

“ I have it. I bet I have it. Which side did the 
frog jump in from i ” 

“ Why, it came jumping down the hill from the 
Soldiers’ Monument. When I first saw it, it was near 
the top of the hill.” 

‘‘ Of course it was ! ” cried the Pixie, slapping his 
leg. “ That’s where the old Kobold lives. This is 
just like his work. He never had an original idea 
in his life.” 

‘‘ You mean — ? ” questioned Wendell. 

I mean this isn’t a real frog at all. It’s a person 
changed into a frog — by enchantment, you know. 
He’s always doing it, pulling that frog stuff. Why, 

I can count one, two, three — seven times anyway 
he’s used that same spell since Cinderella’s god- 


A FROG SOMEWHAT OUT OF THE COMMON 37 

mother first suggested it. I should think he’d be 
tired of it himself.” 

The frog sat and blinked at them with its goggle 
eyes. Wendell didn’t like its stare. He began to 
feel uneasy. Suppose it was enchanted. Suppose it 
should go back to its natural shape. He somehow 
felt sure he shouldn’t like that shape, whatever it 
might be. 

“ Of course, this complicates things for you a bit,” 
said the Pixie briskly. 

‘‘ For me ? ” faltered Wendell. 

Yes, you’ll have to break the spell, you know. 
You seem to forget this is your fairy story, young 
man.” 

“ But how ^ ” queried Wendell. “ It seems to 
me this business of living in a fairy story is just 
nothing but getting out of the frying pan into the fire.” 

“ Well, you wished it, you know,” said the Pixie. 
He uncrossed his legs, crossed them the other way, 
gazed around the room, hummed a little tune. He 
seemed to be washing his hands of all responsibility. 

Sometimes if you throw a frog against a wall 
it will do it,” volunteered the Pixie. He spoke as 
if he had no interest in the matter. 

‘‘ Do what ? ” asked Wendell. 

‘‘ Break the spell, of course.” 

Wendell hated to do it. He didn’t like the frog, 
to be sure, but that was no reason for hurting it. 
However, he advanced, under the compulsion of the 
Pixie’s words, grasped the smooth, cold creature, and 
hurled it against the wall — then jumped back 
startled. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE STORY OF THE ENCHANTED MAIDEN 


N place of the frog, before him 
stood a beauteous maiden. She 
had a dazzlingly clear complex- 
ion, big infantile blue eyes, and a 
wealth of golden hair which she 
wore so as to conceal her ears. 
She was dressed simply but 
charmingly in a sport blouse 
and skirt, silk stockings and low 
shoes. 



‘‘ Jumping caterpillars ! ” ejac- 
ulated the Pixie. ‘‘ I guessed right.” 

You are naturally surprised,” said the Beauteous 
Maiden, in a low melodious voice, ‘‘ to see me in place 
of that odious frog. I cannot tell you how grateful 
I am to you for giving me back my natural form, 
though it can be only for a brief time.” 

Have a chair,” said Wendell as soon as he could 
recover from the shock. 

‘‘ Thank you,” said the maiden, seating herself 
and gracefully crossing one knee over the other. 
“ As the story of my life is a long one and my time is 
short, I will begin it at once.” 

38 


THE STORY OF THE ENCHANTED MAIDEN 39 


Once upon a time there lived a maiden who was 
so beautiful and so good that everyone loved her. 
That maiden, of course, was myself. While I was 
still an infant, my mother died and my father married 
again. He chose for his second wife a woman who 
had a daughter of my own age. For many years we 
were a happy household, but after a time my step- 
mother was transformed into a cruel witch by the 
magic charms of an old Kobold.” 

‘‘ Hold on ! ” cried the Pixie. “ Does he live 
under Flag Staff Hill on the Common ? ’’ 

He does,” said the Beauteous Maiden. 

There, didn’t I tell you this thing was mixed up 
with him ^ ” said the Pixie, turning triumphantly to 
Wendell. “ I can always pick out his style.” 

The old Kobold,” went on the Beauteous Maiden, 
‘‘ gave my stepmother three magic gifts. The first 
was a cloak that rendered the wearer invisible. The 
second was a cap, and whoever put it on could read 
the thoughts of those about him. The third was a 
book of spells, containing all the spells and charms 
ordinarily used by magicians. The old Kobold 
decreed that my stepmother should remain under 
his spell as long as she held these gifts in her posses- 
sion ; but if she should be robbed of them, she would 
lose her base powers as a witch and be restored to 
her original virtuous self.” 

‘‘ I see your work cut out for you,” said the Pixie 
in a low aside to Wendell. 

I cannot tell you,” continued the Beauteous 
Maiden, what a wretched life I led from this time 
on. I was dressed in rags, had only cold scraps to 


40 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


eat, and was forced to do the most menial work of the 
house, while my stepsister wore beautiful clothes and 
went to balls every night.” 

‘‘ Why didn’t your father stop it } ” put in Wendell. 
“ I’ve always wondered about that in these step- 
mother stories — why the father stood for it.” 

“ I was coming to that,” said the Beauteous 
Maiden graciously. ‘‘ My father died soon after 
his second marriage, and my stepmother married 
again.” 

“ I see,” said the Pixie thoughtfully. She took a 
step farther.” 

“ Yes,” assented the Beauteous Maiden, and 
he was a horrible giant whose favorite diet was little 
boys. In addition, my stepmother made life a burden 
to me by her magic arts. She spied upon all my 
actions with the Cloak of Darkness, and she spied 
upon all my thoughts with the Cap of Thought, and 
she was constantly using her Book of Spells to annoy 
me. When I was making doughnuts, she would 
change the rolling pin into an eel which would wriggle 
away from me, and annoying things of that kind. 
My stepsister, too, once as dear to me as my own 
sister could have been, seemed to come gradually 
under the Kobold’s spell. While every one admired 
and loved me for my youth, innocence, and beauty, 
she was so jealous that she constantly sought to do 
me an injury. At length, matters came to a climax. 
One of the Boston papers held a beauty contest, and, 
all unknown to me, a good neighbor sent in my photo- 
graph in competition. It had been advertised that 
the winner of the contest would be offered a con- 


THE STORY OF THE ENCHANTED MAIDEN 41 


tract with one of the moving-picture companies as 
a prize, but I knew nothing of it. Judge, then, of my 
surprise and delight, when a reporter for the paper 
called to say that I had won the competition and with 
it the contract as a movie star. But my joy was 
equalled only by the rage of my cruel stepmother 
and the jealousy of my ugly stepsister. They re- 
solved that I should never sign that contract, and my 
stepmother sent me at once with a letter to be de- 
livered to the old Kobold, requesting him to put the 
bearer to death. 

This horrible design would doubtless have been 
carried out, but on the way to Boston I sat down to 
rest for a few moments in the Fenway and fell asleep. 
While I was asleep, a Metropolitan Park policeman 
happened that way, and stood transfixed at the sight 
of my beauty. Noticing the letter, which I held in 
my hand, he took it, opened and read it, and was 
shocked beyond measure at the dreadful fate designed 
for me. He cast about for means to avert it, and at 
length wrote another letter, requesting the Kobold 
to change the bearer into a fairy, and substituted this 
letter for the original one. Soon after, I awoke and 
went on my way, all unconscious of these events. I 
presented the letter to the Kobold, who immediately 
used his magic charm to transform me. Unfortu- 
nately, the policeman did not write a very legible 
hand. The Kobold read frog for fairy and changed 
me to the horrible form in which you first beheld me.” 

‘‘ There’s a lesson for you, young man,” said the 
Pixie severely. “ You don’t write any too good a 
hand yourself.” 


42 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


My time is short,” went on the Beauteous 
Maiden. ‘‘ The courage and devotion of my res- 
cuer,” she turned a sad little smile on Wendell, who 
wriggled uncomfortably, ‘‘ has made it possible for 
me to resume my natural form for a short time, in 
order to tell my story, but soon I must return to the 
shape of a frog. So I will tell you of the further task 
that lies before you. 

“ You must go alone at midnight to the hill where 
the Kobold dwells, and summon him forth by saying 
these magic words : — 

‘‘ Green hill, green hill, open to me. 

I would the wise old Kohold seed"* 

“ Well, if that isn’t conceited ! ” said the Pixie 
scornfully. “ Of all the nonsense ! ‘ The wise old 

Kobold ’ ! My word ! ” 

“ When the Kobold comes out, you must tell him 
that you have come to rescue the Beauteous Maiden 
and inquire his terms. He will ask you to perform a 
task for him, and when it is completed, I shall be 
free.” 

“ I know just what he’ll ask you, too,” put in the 
Pixie. ‘‘ Same superannuated stuff ! He’ll ask you 
to guess his name.” 

‘‘ Well, what is his name ? ” asked Wendell, look- 
ing from the Pixie to the Beauteous Maiden and back 
again. 

“ How should I know ^ ” shrugged the Pixie. 

He doesn’t know, himself, really. He stuck to 
Rumpelstiltskin a few hundred years, but lately he 
changes it every time. He has to, you know, because 


THE STORY OF THE ENCHANTED MAIDEN 43 


he always gives it away, himself, spinning ’round on 
one leg. That’s just how much sense he has.” 

Which side of the hill, I wonder,” went on Wen- 
dell, turning to the Beauteous Maiden, but to his 
startled surprise, she had vanished, and there sat the 
frog, as green, as goggle-eyed, as unintelligent, as 
altogether repulsive as if it had never won a beauty 
contest in its life. 


CHAPTER VII 


WENDELL WORKS THE MIDNIGHT SPELL 



OW did she get that way ? ” 
he asked the Pixie, who only 
smiled gleefully and returned, 
‘‘ It’s a great life, isn’t it, this 
fairy story business ! ” 


“ Well, I suppose I’ve got 
to do it,” said the harassed 
boy. ‘‘ How I’m ever going 
to stay awake till midnight. 


I don’t see.” 


“ Oh, I’ll wake you, my 


boy,” said the Pixie obligingly. ‘‘ You go to bed .” 

“ And what am I going to do with him — with 
her ? ” pursued Wendell, pointing vindictively to the 
frog. “ Now I know what she is, I’ve got to make 
her comfortable somewhere. She can’t sleep in a 
stocking.” 

The frog blinked and stared at him. Wendell 
stared back gloomily. He wondered if different 
frogs looked different to each other, like boys and 
dogs. It seemed to him that this frog was particu- 
larly ugly, even judged by frog standards of beauty. 
Well, poor thing ! that was probably the Kobold’s 
fault. 


44 


WENDELL WORKS THE MIDNIGHT SPELL 45 


I know what Til do with her,” he said. ‘‘ Fll 
put her in the guest chamber for the night. She’ll 
like that. Virginia’s away overnight.” 

It wasn’t very easy to catch the frog. It eluded 
Wendell with long-legged leaps, but Wendell cornered 
it at last, with the help of the Pixie, and carried it, 
its little heart pulsating with fright, to the dainty room 
that Cousin Virginia occupied, and tucked it into bed. 

“ One good job done,” said Wendell to himself. 
“ I won’t have to sleep with that in the room tonight.” 

“ Well, old chap, I guess I’ll go to bed now,” he 
said, yawning, to the Pixie, ‘‘ and if you will call me, 
say about eleven-thirty. I’ll be much obliged.” 

As he slid under the bed clothes and sprawled out 
in solid comfort, his foot touched something cold, 
clammy, repellent. He barely repressed a shriek. 
He threw back the bed clothes. Yes, the frog again ! 

“ Now, how did he ever get there ? ” cried Wendell 
in bewilderment. “ I’m sure he couldn’t open the 
door. It is magic, for sure.” 

“ She, you mean. You can’t shake her,” rejoined 
the Pixie maliciously. “ It’s your fairy tale, you 
know, and you are The Rescuer.” 

“ Well, what shall I do with her now ? ” asked 
Wendell in despair. ‘‘ Do you suppose she’d stay 
here if I went into Cousin Virginia’s room ^ ” 

“ Not for a moment,” said the Pixie. ‘‘ I tell you. 
You put her under the down puff, on the foot of the 
bed, and I’ll keep an eye on her.” 

It seemed about five minutes after Wendell was 
in bed, when he awoke suddenly and found that the 
Pixie was pounding him severely. 


46 


IT’S YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


‘‘ Hold on ! Hold on ! ” he called. ‘‘ What’s the 
matter ? ” 

The matter is, IVe been trying for the last ten 
minutes to wake you,” said the Pixie, exasperated. 
‘‘ The Sleeping Beauty had nothing on you. Hurry 
up, now, or you won’t get there at midnight.” 

Wendell tumbled into his clothes and tiptoed, as 
noiselessly as in him lay, down the broad old-fash- 
ioned stairs, and still another flight to the basement. 
He did not dare risk the noise of the front door, so 
he emerged from the kitchen into the back alley, and 
thence to the street. Not a person was in sight. 
Only a black and white cat prowled the gutters. A 
strange silence covered the city. Even the surging, 
seething roar of West End children at play, which 
rises all the evening, was stilled. Wendell’s running 
footsteps, beating rhythmic time on the brick pave- 
ment of Old Boston, alone broke the stillness. No 
traffic policemen presided over Beacon Street. He 
gained the Common, skirted the Frog Pond, and 
faced Flag Staff Hill and, brave boy though he was, 
he did tremble in his boots. 

The frequent electric lights along the thorough- 
fares that bound the Common drew glowing lines of 
light around it ; and there were bright lights at the 
intersection of the walks. But here, on the gentle 
slope of Flag Staff Hill, under the tall elms, a great 
black shadow lay. No Boston boy, born and reared 
among the historic traditions of the Commonwealth, 
but knows the somber legend of this site, that under 
this soil lie buried the Quakers and the pirates whom 
Puritan zeal executed on this spot in the early days 


WENDELL WORKS THE MIDNIGHT SPELL 47 


of the colony. Cold chills ran up and down Wendell’s 
spine as he stood here in the shadow and listened for 
the stroke of midnight. Presently it boomed forth 
from the old church on Mount Vernon Street — the 
same metal voice that struck the hour to the poet 
Longfellow when he stood on the bridge at midnight. 
Now was the fateful moment ! And do you know, 
whether it was magic or whether it was scare I can’t 
say, but Wendell couldn’t for the life of him remember 
that charm that was to summon the Kobold ! The 
striking of the clock, bringing with it the memory of 
that well known poem which he had learned in 
school, had driven every bit of verse out of his mind, 
except his Cousin Virginia’s irreverent version of the 
same poem : — - 

I stood on the bridge at midnight, 

As the clocks were striking three, 

And a cabman drove across the bridge 
And hitched his horse to meT 

On the eleventh stroke of the old church bell, the 
Park Street Church at Brimstone Corner took up 
the echo. Wendell by a mighty effort recalled the 
charm before the second sonorous voice had died on 
the still air. 

‘‘ Green hill, green hill, open to me. 

I would the wise old Kobold see,'*^ 

repeated Wendell. 

Suddenly another electric light on the path below 
sprang into brightness, and sent a light streak across 
the shadow of the elms. For a moment Wendell 


48 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


fancied, and decided that it must be only fancy, that 
the ground trembled slightly under his feet. Then, 
before his eyes there came a crack in the earth, as if 
a giant seed were germinating and pushing up a shoot. 
The crack widened. It became a tunnel extending 
apparently into the very heart of the hill ; and sud- 
denly, like a cut moving-picture film that jerks a 
sudden change upon the screen, he saw that the 
mouth of the tunnel was occupied by an unexpected 
grotesque figure that could be none other than the 
Kobold. 

Wendell had expected that the Kobold would look 
somewhat like the Pixie, but they had nothing in 
common except smallness of stature. The Kobold 
was about the size of a six-year-old, and had white 
hair and white whiskers and a very long white beard 
that reached to his waist. He appeared to be wearing 
a belted velvet suit, with full sleeves and breeches, 
and he was very stout and stocky. 

‘‘ Who summons me ? ” he said with dignity. 

I do,” said Wendell advancing boldly, now that 
there was need for action. “ I should like to know 
how to free the Beauteous Maiden from your 
spell.” 

The Kobold chuckled grimly — an exclusive sort 
of chuckle that made Wendell feel very much out of 
the joke. 

‘‘ If you wish to win the Maiden’s freedom,” he 
said slowly, you will first have to guess a riddle. 
You may have three chances to give the answer. If 
you guess correctly on any one of those trials, the 
Maiden shall be restored to her original form. If 







•'s"> 

S/AN, 


•W«NXi 


" - - ' Sw' ;^s- 

t . ""C S -=*^'' •> 


MM. 




■l^aK 


■^^xx• 


«cs^4< 


WM 


'LSy5NV.Mi<^P>X 
•X'lOWXsy^iyt'^Ts.'iX^ • •; vi'is 

K I ^^ • •«.'^.^^V A*. W.'. •. vi'.*.*. C*.’. 

'^'vo ss A^Sh<. 

C. 5.- -■'I 


::«S:Xs: 


V/A* 


/Cv 


•V.’A' 


V<>v 




waaaii: 








“ WHO SUMMONS ME ? SAID THE KOBOLD 















WENDELL WORKS THE MIDNIGHT SPELL 49 


you fail, she shall still remain a frog, and you too 
shall be transformed into another shape at my will.” 

“ Good gracious ! ” cried Wendell. “ Is there as 
much to it as all that ? I’m not going to be changed 
into anything at anybody’s will. You can keep your 
old riddle and your frog, too, for all of me.” He 
turned to go. 

‘‘ Stay ! ” cried the Kobold, so he stayed to listen. 

“ I might add,” said the Kobold, “ that while the 
above terms are my regular ones, I might make a 
slight reduction in your case, as business is par- 
ticularly dull just now. Indeed, to be candid, it is 
nearly a hundred years since I have had any oppor- 
tunity to hold this guessing contest.” 

“ Well, how much of a reduction ? ” asked Wen- 
dell. “ Will you leave out the part about trans- 
forming me ? Say, if I win, the frog changes back 
to the Maiden, and if I lose, it stays a frog ? ” 

“ No, no,” returned the Kobold. “ Such is not 
my method of doing business. The princes that have 
entered this contest in times past have at least agreed 
to be transformed for a limited time.” 

Not for a moment, for me,” said Wendell. 
‘‘ Times have changed.” 

‘‘ A week, say,” urged the Kobold. “ I tell you 
frankly I shall not release the Maiden for less, and 
if she is not released before one more year is run, she 
will be turned into a loathly dragon for life.” 

‘‘ Well, make it a week, then,” said Wendell 
sulkily. 

‘‘ Agreed ! ” said the Kobold. ‘‘ Here, then, is 
the riddle you must answer : — What is Boston ? ” 


50 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


Without a moment’s hesitation, just as promptly 
as if he had been asked his own name, Wendell re- 
plied in Dr. Holmes’ words, as any Boston boy 
would, 

“ Boston is the Hub of the Universe.” 

“ Wrong ! Wrong ! ” chuckled the Kobold ma- 
liciously. “ I knew you’d say that. But there is 
another answer.” 

‘‘Well,” said the crestfallen Wendell, “I’ll go 
home and think it over. And say, do I have to come 
at midnight every time ? It’s mighty hard to sneak 
out just then.” 

“ No, I will make an appointment with you for 
any time you say,” returned the Kobold obligingly. 
“ Morning, evening, whatever you wish.” 

“ Let’s make it eight o’clock in the morning,” said 
Wendell. “ I could drop in here on the way to 
school.” 

“ To-morrow ? ” asked the Kobold. 

“ N-no,” hesitated Wendell. “ I’ll need a little 
time on this thing.” 

“ I’ll wager you will,” chuckled the old Kobold, 
growing almost slangy in his dignified glee. 

“ Say the day after to-morrow,” suggested Wen- 
dell. 

“ Agreed ! ” said the Kobold. “ You will find me 
here outside the hill. And mind you bring back 
that frog. It is not your property, you must re- 
member.” 

“ I will. I’ll be glad to,” returned Wendell hur- 
riedly. The frog was already on his nerves. 

“ And only two more guesses,” added the Kobold. 


WENDELL WORKS THE MIDNIGHT SPELL 51 


“ I know,” said Wendell meekly. He was very 
much mortified to have failed so quickly through his 
own assurance. He went back through the silent 
streets, let himself in quietly and bolted the back 
door, took off his shoes and groped up to his room, 
where the Pixie sat awaiting him. 


CHAPTER VIII 


COUSIN VIRGINIA HAS A CALLER 


ii 



ELL, you deserved to 
lose,” said the Pixie 
when he had heard the 
whole story, “answer- 
ing right off like that 
on the spur of the mo- 
ment. You have to 
think these things over 
a bit. Besides, the Hub 
has been moving slowly 
westward since Holmes’ 


time. It’s nearer Chicago, now, I believe. But 
what did I tell you about old White-Hairs ^ Isn’t 
he a back number ? Trying to do business in the 
twentieth century the way he used to do it with 
those princes in slashed doublets ! Why doesn’t he 
wake up and hear the birdies sing ^ ” 

“ How’s the frog ? ” asked Wendell anxiously. 

“ An awful nuisance,” responded the Pixie frankly. 
“ I think she’s thirsty but she won’t drink.” 

“ Oh, they can’t drink, you know,” explained Wen- 
dell. “ They take it in through the skin. That mug 
is too small. Here, I’ll fill the basin and put her in.” 

52 


COUSIN VIRGINIA HAS A CALLER 


53 


That seemed to content the frog. It sat and 
soaked and absorbed and goggled at Wendell, who 
regarded it moodily. 

“ If I can’t do anything more for you,” said the 
Pixie, ‘‘ I’ll move on. Hope you guess the riddle.” 

“ Thanks, old fellow,” said Wendell soberly. He 
was very sleepy and discouraged. But the frog 
looked a bit cheerier. 

Hardly was Wendell in bed when he dropped off 
to sleep, and five minutes later, blop ! the frog leaped 
from the basin and landed on the boy’s face, all wet 
and soggy and cold. Wendell, half asleep, struck 
out in self-defense, and landed a whacking blow on 
the poor reptile, that sent it halfway across the room. 
He realized instantly what he had done, and much 
ashamed of himself, he turned on the light, located 
the panting frog, and tucked it under the down quilt 
at the foot of the bed. Bitterly he regretted that he 
had not made an appointment with the Kobold to 
return the creature the very next morning. 

When he left for school, he hid the frog away again 
in his stocking, in a chiffonier drawer, but even his 
preoccupation with the Boston riddle did not entirely 
obliterate his uneasy fear that the frog might escape 
or be turned out of the house in his absence, and thus 
plunge him into some other awful rescuing problem. 

He had hoped that the geography or history or 
literature lesson might enlighten him on the definition 
of Boston, and his attention to study was so strict 
that his teachers thought best to watch him even 
more closely than usual, to forestall whatever mis- 
chief must be brewing. But no ray of light came to 


54 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


him from any of his lessons. He went home despond- 
ently, assured himself that the frog was still safe, and 
went out to play with cheerful Sammy Davis and 
the^' other fellows. It seemed a long while since he, 
too, had been a care-free, whistling boy, with no 
greater anxiety than being kept after school for 
fractions, or being chased by Sammy’s cross janitor. 

He had almost forgotten his troubles when he went 
in to dinner, but as soon as he ascended to his room 
to study they all came back, for there sat the frog 
on his table, popping its eyes out at him most un- 
pleasantly. 

‘‘ I guess I’ll study downstairs,” he thought. 
‘‘ I’ll have the library to myself tonight. Mother 
and Father have gone to the Symphony, and I guess 
Cousin Virginia’s out somewhere.” 

He settled down comfortably in the library, and 
was getting on famously with his lessons when the 
bell rang and a masculine voice asked for his Cousin 
Virginia. She came down presently and a lively 
conversation began in the front room just out of 
sight but not out of sound of Wendell. He managed, 
however, to keep his mind on his work, for it was very 
silly talk and not at all interesting. The man was 
a Harvard student from New York, and they chat- 
tered on about strangers to Wendell whom they 
knew in common. 

“ Do you like Boston .? ” Wendell heard the man 
say, and Virginia’s clear and rather high-pitched 
voice answered, 

‘‘ Of course I like Boston. I’ll put it more strongly, 
I thoroughly enjoy Boston. I never supposed any 


COUSIN VIRGINIA HAS A CALLER 


55 


place could be so — so historical, so absolutely, 
thoroughly, naively, unselfconsciously historical. 
Why, even little Wendell — ” 

“ She needn’t little me,” thought Wendell sav- 
agely. 

“ — invited me to see a play he was to be in, in 
school, and what do you suppose ? it was Revolu- 
tionary. All about hiding away a wounded soldier, 
with allusions to the British encamped on Boston 
Common, and the tax on tea. I don’t believe Boston 
knows anything has happened in history since the 
Boston Tea Party.” 

‘‘ You’ve said it,” said the young man, who seemed 
to admire Virginia very much. 

‘‘ And their holidays,” went on the foolish girl. 

When I was here last spring, I went out to shop 
on the nineteenth of April, and would you believe it i 
the shops were closed. Patriots’ Day, if you please, 
when the farmers fired the shot heard round the 
world ! I came in and said to Auntie, ‘ Do you by 
any chance have a holiday in Boston on the fourth of 
July, Auntie ? ’ ‘ Why, yes, dear,’ she said, ‘ of 

course.’ I said, ‘ But why ? It isn’t Emerson’s 
birthday, is it ^ ’ and she said, ‘ Why, my dear, you 
must know it is Independence Day.’ ‘ Oh, yes. 
Auntie,’ I said, ‘ but why celebrate it in Boston ? 
That little event was pulled off in Philadelphia. 
Hasn’t Boston enough ? ’ ” 

‘‘ Ha, ha ! ” laughed the young man. ‘‘ That was 
a good one on Boston.” 

‘‘ But the greatest pleasure I’ve had is the baked 
beans,” she went on. 


56 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


‘‘ Pleasure ! ” echoed the young man. ‘‘ No 
pleasure, surely.” 

“ Oh, I mean mental pleasure, to find they really are, 
you know, and not merely a myth. Of course, I be- 
lieved before I came here that they existed here, but as 
anoccasional article of diet. Why, they are a religious 
rite, an article of faith ! Every Saturday night ! ” 

“ Yes, and every Sunday morning breakfast at my 
boarding house,” groaned the young man. 

‘‘ Impossible ! Inhuman ! ” said Virginia brightly. 

‘‘ Inhuman, but true,” moaned the young man. 

Wendell thought he had never heard such idiocy 
in his life. Delicious baked beans ! 

“ But they not only eat them — they take them 
seriously,” Virginia’s silly little voice ran on. ‘‘ I 
made a light and unworthy remark to one of Auntie’s 
friends about the sacred bean. She looked at me 
compassionately and then said gravely, ‘ We always 
bake them with a small onion in the bottom of the 
pot.’ Yes, I don’t know who said it first, but it is 
absolutely true that Boston is a state of mind.” 

Wendell, listening with the utmost scorn to these 
trivialities, was suddenly brought up short. 

Boston is a state of mind. 

Three rousing cheers for Cousin Virginia ! 

He went to bed happy that night. Even the 
presence of the loathsome frog was endurable. To- 
morrow he would return the creature to the Kobold, 
and at the same time fling the answer to his riddle 
in his teeth — if he had any teeth. It would seem 
probable that a Kobold with so much white beard 
would be too old to have teeth. 


COUSIN VIRGINIA HAS A CALLER 


57 


The Kobold was waiting for him on the slope of 
Flag Staff Hill next morning. So cleverly did his 
velvet suit take on the soft tone of the elm trunks, 
that no one of the busy passersby, hurrying on to 
business through the Common, discerned him there 
under the trees, though Wendell saw him clearly. 
Or was it that he made himself invisible to other 
eyes ? 

‘‘ Tve brought your frog,” said Wendell, drawing 
a long breath. He handed the stocking over to 
the Kobold, and the frog leaped out and vanished 
among the fallen leaves. 

“ What is Boston ? ” asked the Kobold mock- 
ingly. 

“Boston,” said Wendell with assurance, “js a 
state of mind.” 

“ Wrong ! Wrong ! ” jeered the Kobold — and 
was no longer there. But a little breeze rustled in 
the elm trees and brought a faint hissing message to 
Wendell’s ears, just as the rushes whispered the fatal 
secret of the barber of King Midas : — 

“ One more chance ! One more chance ! ” 

Wendell went on dejectedly to school. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE BREAKING OF THE CHARM 

EVERAL days passed by. No 
inspiration came to Wendell. 
The Pixie had no suggestion to 
offer, only unsympathetic criti- 
cism : — “ You might have 
known that was too subtle for 
him. He’s no deep thinker. I 
could have told you.” His 
mother grew anxious. You 
mustn’t study so hard, dear,” 
she said. You should have 
been out playing with the boys 
instead of poring over that Memorial History of 
Boston this afternoon. Yes, I know it is fascinat- 
ing reading, especially the earlier chapters, but you 
must think of your health, dear.” Cousin Virginia 
looked at Wendell solicitously, and Wendell knew 
she meant to be funny again. 

This was Saturday evening, and the family had 
just settled down in the library with the Transcript, 
each with a section. Alden had the news ; Otis, 
the sporting page ; his father was perusing the 
editorials, his mother was reading the religious items. 
Cousin Virginia dabbled a few moments in the 
58 



THE BREAKING OF THE CHARM 


59 


theatrical columns, like a canary unwilling to get 
wet all over in his china tub, and then laid down her 
section, suppressed a yawn, and said, 

‘‘ Why does all Boston find its greatest dissipation 
Saturday night in reading the Saturday evening 
Transcript ? ’’ 

‘‘ Habit, pure habit,’’ growled Alden, without 
raising his eyes. 

‘‘ Not altogether habit,” said his mother, gently 
and seriously. ‘‘ The Transcript^ Virginia, is quite 
different from any other paper. It is reliable and 
conservative and sound.” 

“You know, Virginia” — her uncle looked up 
for a moment with a twinkle in his eye — “ good 
Bostonians always make a point of dying on Friday, 
so that their obituaries can go into the Saturday 
evening Transcript ^ 

“ No ? That is consistent,” laughed Virginia. 
“ But even the Boston children quote it. I saw 
the funniest little chap as I was crossing the Common 
to-day — a short fat little fellow, having a lot of fun 
with a false beard and whiskers. He was twirling 
around on one leg, to get dizzy, I suppose, and chant- 
ing loudly something like this, that didn’t make any 
sense : — 

“ ‘ The hoy — will soon — belong — to me^ 

Unless — the Trans — cript he — should see. 

Ha ! Ha ! — the ed — ito — rial page 
He'll nev — er read — until — old age ! ’ 

Would you believe it ? I never would — outside of 
Boston.” 


60 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


Wendell listened no further. He could hardly 
wait for his father to drop the editorial section. 
What a foolish old Kobold ! — giving the whole thing 
away, just as the Pixie said he always did. Thank 
goodness ! 

Wendell remembered how his nature study teacher 
had told the class that even the smallest and humblest 
of creatures has undoubtedly some place in the 
scheme of things. Even Cousin Virginia had a use 
in the world, it would seem. 

After a long while, Wendell’s father laid down the 
page, and Wendell picked it up inconspicuously. 
But not too inconspicuously for Cousin Virginia’s 
keen laughing eyes. 

‘‘ Nice little Boston, Wendell,” she whispered to 
him. “ The family picture is complete.” 

Wendell read the page through carefully, every 
word, — the weather, the leaders, the paragraphs, the 
Nomad, Letters to the Editor, Facts and Fancies, 
the deaths, and the advertisements. Not one word 
that gave light on the definition of Boston. Wendell 
sat in a brown study. Presently, he went up to his 
room, hoping the Pixie would be there, and sure 
enough, he was. 

Sounds very probable,” was the Pixie’s com- 
ment, after Wendell had laid the facts before him. 
‘‘ Of course it doesn’t have to be to-night’s Tran- 
script. In fact it couldn’t be. It must have been 
before he put the riddle to you, anyway. I shouldn’t 
be surprised if you’d hit the bull’s-eye this time. 
That’s just the kind of riddle he’d propose — some- 
thing he read in the paper ! That’s just the kind of 


THE BREAKING OF THE CHARM 


61 


mind he has. There are some people like that, you 
know, who think if they see it ‘ in the paper,’ it must 
be true.” 

“ Then,” said Wendell, you’d advise looking 
through the old Transcripts till I find it. I could do 
that, I guess, at the Transcript office.” 

He had to wait till Monday, of course. Monday 
afternoon, he went down directly from school to the 
Transcript building, which, fitly enough, occupies 
the historic site of the birthplace of Benjamin Frank- 
lin, the great journalist. The Transcript people were 
most courteous and put their files at Wendell’s dis- 
posal. Through editorial page after page floundered 
Wendell, and if only he could have understood and 
remembered half that he read, he would have emerged 
from the newspaper office a complete specimen of the 
well-read Boston boy, such as his Cousin Virginia 
pretended to believe he already was. It was nearly 
dusk before his heart was lightened by a definition 
of Boston, this one from the pen of Oliver Herford, 
whom of course Wendell recognized as a delightful 
contributor to St, Nicholas, Mr. Herford, it seemed, 
was originally a Boston man, though now dwelling 
in the outlands, and, said Mr. Herford, “ Boston is 
a center of gravity almost entirely surrounded by 
Newtons.” 

It sounded like sense, though naturally Wendell 
didn’t quite understand it at first. After he had 
read it several times, he began to see the point. En- 
couraged by the views the Pixie had expressed, 
Wendell decided to stop right in at the Kobold’s on 
the way home. If he wasn’t on the slope of the hill, 


62 ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 

or if he remained invisible there, doubtless the 
spell that worked before would bring him to light 
again. 

But Wendell found no need to use the spell, for the 
little old Kobold was out in plain sight, at least in 
plain sight of Wendell, though no one else appeared 
to notice him in the dusk of evening. 

His eye lit up mockingly as Wendell approached. 
‘‘ IVe got it this time,’’ said Wendell. ‘‘ I found 
it in the Transcript.’^ 

“ Oh, did you ? ” said the little old chap with less 
assurance than he had shown before. ‘‘ What made 
you think of looking there ? ” 

Wendell decided not to tell him. ‘‘ Oh, I read the 
Transcript pretty regularly,” he said. ‘‘ This is the 
answer : — ‘ Boston is a center of gravity almost 
entirely surrounded by Newtons.’ ” 

‘‘ You are right ! ” groaned the Kobold. You 
are right ! ” and gnashed his teeth. Wendell was 
much interested, as he had heard of gnashing one’s 
teeth, but had never seen it done before ; besides it 
cleared up that doubtful point in his mind as to 
whether the white-bearded Kobold had any teeth. 

When the Kobold had finished gnashing, he asked 
Wendell very respectfully, 

‘‘ By the way, can you tell me what it means ? ” 
It’s perfectly clear,” said Wendell. ‘‘ You know 
the Newtons around Boston, West Newton, and 
Newton Center, and so on. And Isaac Newton was 
the man who discovered the law of gravity — of 
falling, you know. And some people do think there’s 
a lot of gravity in Boston — grave conversation, I 


THE BREAKING OF THE CHARM 


63 


mean. I have a cousin from New York who thinks 
so. So it’s a fairly good joke, you see.” 

“ No, I do not see,” returned the Kobold, grasping 
his head in both hands, but it does not matter, I 
assure you. I shall not use it again under any cir- 
cumstances. It is too ultra-modern. You may not 
have guessed it but I am a conservative.” 

“ I guessed the riddle, anyway,” maintained Wen- 
dell, ‘‘ so where’s the Maiden ^ ” 

“ She is here,” said the Kobold, looking down at the 
rustling leaves, where Wendell now made out the ugly 
shape of the frog. Maiden, you are free.” 

And there she stood, slim and beautiful in the 
dusk, and looked at Wendell with the utmost grati- 
tude. 

My deliverer ! ” she breathed softly. 

I suppose you will have to marry her now,” said 
the Kobold to Wendell. ‘‘ It is always customary.” 
Wendell was sure there was malice in the old fellow’s 
eye this time. 

‘‘ Why — why — ” he stammered, we didn’t 
plan that.” And the Beauteous Maiden added 
quickly, 

“ Not yet. There are my cruel stepmother and the 
giant to consider. Come, sit with me on yonder 
bench, and we will discuss the matter.” So they 
moved away and left the Kobold standing there, and 
that was the last that Wendell saw of him, though for 
all I know, the old fellow may still be living under 
Flag Staff Hill on Boston Common to this very 
moment. 

“ The first thing I must do,” said the Beauteous 


64 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


Maiden, ‘‘ is to hunt up that moving picture man and 
sign the contract. Then I shall be independent in 
case you shouldn’t succeed with my family.” 

Succeed with your family — how do you mean ? ” 
asked Wendell. 

“ Why, in case my cruel stepmother should work a 
charm on you, or in case the giant should eat you 
up.” 

Oh, I see,” said Wendell, ‘‘ I hadn’t thought of 
that.” 

‘‘ Well, of course, we’ll hope for the best,” said the 
Beauteous Maiden. “ Here is the address in Brook- 
line. You take the car from Park Street. You 
know what you have to do, — rob my stepmother of 
the three magic gifts that give her her power as a 
witch, — the Cloak of Darkness, the Cap of Thought 
and the Book of Spells. The Book of Spells has 
every charm in the world.” 

“ Why not just take the book then ? ” asked 
Wendell. 

Of course, the minute he had asked it, he knew it 
was a stupid question. 

“ Because things always go by threes. Silly,” said 
the Beauteous Maiden. “ After the witch is power- 
less, your next task will be to kill the giant ; and the 
Book of Spells will undoubtedly help you there. 
Now farewell, dear Deliverer. I must find that 
movie man.” 

‘‘ Good-bye,” said Wendell. He was glad to be 
alone. He had a great deal to face and a great deal 
to plan. Besides that, he had been rubbed the 
wrong way by the Beauteous Maiden, who really 



SAID THE BEAUTEOUS MAIDEN, “YOUR NEXT TASK WILL 
BE TO KILL THE GIANT” 






THE BREAKING OF THE CHARM 


65 


seemed to think it was a small thing for him to be 
eaten by a giant for her sake. He said as much to 
the Pixie, who came in that evening, tremendously 
interested in the answer to the Kobold’s riddle, and 
eager to encourage Wendell in his next adventure. 


CHAPTER X 


IN THE GIANTS HOUSE 

I, yes, it sounds easy,” 
grumbled Wendell. Just 
walk into a witch’s house 
and steal her magic cloak. 
Easy as rolling off a log. 
Only how am I going to do 
it. I’d like to know.” 

I might help,” said the 
Pixie. ‘‘ I rather like a lark 
of that kind.” 

“ Oh, if you^d help,” said 
Wendell. That would be 
great. What could you do ? ” 

‘‘ Well, I have some rather neat transformation 
charms, myself,” said the Pixie. ‘‘ I suppose if I 
once got you into the house, you could do the rest.” 

“ I guess so,” said Wendell. ‘‘ I could hide in the 
oven or something.” 

‘‘ I’ll have to make you pretty small to get into one 
of these gas ranges they use now-a-days,” said the 
Pixie thoughtfully. You have to think of every- 
thing, you know, in this business, or else you lose by 
a fluke. I have it. I’ll change myself into an organ 
grinder, and you into the monkey.” 

66 



IN THE GIANTS HOUSE 


67 


‘‘ Yes ! ” jeered Wendell. ‘‘ Nice chance a monkey 
would have to be let into anybody’s house.” 

“ Well, of course,” said the Pixie, somewhat crest- 
fallen, “ it was only a suggestion.” 

It’s got to be something that anybody would be 
glad to have in their house,” said Wendell. ‘‘ Some- 
thing helpful. A furnace man. Or a gas man — to 
read the meter.” 

‘‘ Nobody’s glad to have him in their house,” 
grunted the Pixie. ‘‘ But I get your idea. Why not 
a plumber to stop a leak ? I have a fine plumber’s 
transformation among my charms. I’ll be the 
plumber and you can go as my assistant. Good 
idea, what I ” 

‘‘ The very thing,” said Wendell. 

‘‘ Well, after school to-morrow, you get into your 
oldest clothes, and I’ll come around.” 

Wendell hurried home the next afternoon and 
hunted out an old suit that he had withheld from the 
Morgan Memorial Goodwill bag, in case of a painting 
job or something. Hardly had he got into these 
clothes, when he heard an impatient honking in the 
street. Looking out, he saw in front of the curb a 
huge Cadillac with the driver’s seat occupied by a 
young chap in workingman’s clothes who grinned up 
at him and beckoned frantically. 

Wendell went down. 

“ I wouldn’t have known you,” he said. It’s a 
fine disguise.” 

“ I think it’s rather neat,” returned the Pixie with 
quiet pride. He had a young, pleasant, intelligent 
face, and no one could possibly have taken him for a 


68 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


Pixie. He was very suitably dressed in khaki 
trousers, blue coat, tan shoes, and visored cap, all 
somewhat creased and soiled, and a bundle of tools 
lay on the seat beside him. 

Where did you get the car ? ” asked Wendell. 

“ Part of the outfit,’’ responded the Pixie. I 
couldn’t pass for a plumber, these days, could I, 
unless I went to my job in a high-powered touring 
car ? ” 

The Pixie guided the car deftly down the hill, and 
turned from the dimpling blue Charles River into 
Beacon Street. They spun out over the smooth pave- 
ment through Boston and into Brookline, consulted 
the address that the Beauteous Maiden had written 
down, conferred with a policeman or two, and at 
length turned into one of the pretty winding roads 
that net the Boston suburbs. 

“ That’s it,” said the Pixie. There’s the num- 
ber.” 

It was an attractive modern house of the near- 
Colonial style of architecture, white-painted, with 
green blinds, a brick porch, a very well-kept lawn, the 
whole tasteful, but not pretentious. 

The Pixie rang the bell. 

After a few moments, the door was opened by a 
young lady, who, while not positively deformed, was 
so very, very plain, that Wendell knew at once that 
she was the Ugly Stepsister. 

‘‘ Leak in the bathroom ^ ” asked the Pixie, with 
a concise, business-like air. 

“ I didn’t know it. I’ll ask Mummer,” said the 
young lady. She left the door ajar, and they heard 


IN THE GIANTS HOUSE 


69 


her calling, “ Mummer ! ’’ as she retreated to the 
back of the house. 

“ I might slip in now, don’t you think ? ” asked 
Wendell. 

‘‘ No, no ! ” whispered the Pixie sternly. ‘‘ Wait 
and walk in like a gentleman. No sneaking when 
you’re with me, young man.” 

Wendell felt somewhat abashed, and yet resentful. 

I’d like to know if it isn’t sneaking to — ” he be- 
gan, but just then a door opened from the kitchen 
and the Cruel Stepmother came forward. She had 
projecting teeth, and a hooked nose and chin, and her 
hair straggled uncombed about her face. 

“ What do you want ^ ” she said. 

‘‘ Leak in the bathroom,” said the Pixie briefly. 
‘‘ Your husband telephoned.” 

‘‘ Oh,” said she. Right up the stairs there.” 

The Pixie went up with the bag of tools on his 
shoulder, followed closely by Wendell, and found 
a neat tiled bathroom. He unrolled his tools, se- 
lected a monkey-wrench and went to work on the 
bath-tub pipes. The two women had remained 
downstairs. 

‘‘ Well, you’re here,” said the Pixie in a low tone. 

“ What would you do next ? ” whispered Wendell. 

Look about a bit,” rejoined the Pixie. ‘‘I’ll 
keep my ear cocked.” 

Wendell tiptoed carefully into the hall and peeked 
into the front bedroom. He tried a closet door, found 
it unlocked, opened it and peered in at the usual 
collection of clothes hanging in closets. There was 
nothing that looked like a magic cloak. He tiptoed 


70 


irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


into the next bedroom and was investigating the 
contents of the closet there, when he heard a sudden 
exclamation from the Pixie in the bathroom. He 
went in hastily, asking, ‘‘ Have you found any- 
thing ? ’’ 

The Pixie had entirely disconnected the bath- 
tub and disjointed the pipes, which lay strewn over 
the white-tiled floor. He was hastily rolling up his 
bundle of tools. 

Pm off,” he said. If the lady asks, tell her 
Pve gone for my tools.” 

When are you coming back ? ” asked Wendell. 

Not at all,” said the Pixie, blithely but hurriedly. 

‘‘ But aren’t you going to put the plumbing to- 
gether again ? ” asked Wendell in dismay. They 
can’t ever do it.” 

‘‘ I guess they can do it as well as I can,” returned 
the Pixie. ‘‘ I never took even a correspondence 
course in plumbing. So long.” 

But what about me } ” protested Wendell. 

“ Well, here you are,” said the Pixie impatiently. 

You said if I once got you in here, you’d be all right. 
I’ve got to be on the way.” 

‘‘ Yes, but don’t you think the Giant may come ^ ” 

‘‘ I do, indeed,” said the Pixie, who was now at 
the top of the stairs. ‘‘ In fact, I saw him only a 
moment ago coming down the street.” 

With these words, he hurried down, opened and 
closed the front door, swiftly but cautiously, and be- 
fore Wendell had recovered from the shock, there 
rose the purr of the motor, and the car was off. 

Its sound had hardly died away, when there came 


IN THE GIANTS HOUSE 


71 


a heavy tread on the piazza that shook the house, 
the door was violently thrown open, and a huge voice 
roared, 

‘‘ Fee, fi, fo, fum I 
I smell the hlood of — ” 

The roar stopped short. Wendell heard the Step- 
mother’s voice. 

“ I wish you’d learn to control that fee, fi, fo, fum 
business ! ” she scolded. ‘‘ You scared the cook 
so badly with it this morning that she gave notice, 
and here I’ve had to cook the dinner. It may have 
been all right back in Cornwall several hundred years 
ago, but it doesn’t go here.” 

Well, I’m sure,” said the Giant, I didn’t mean 
anything. I do smell the blood of some one.” 

‘‘ It’s that plumber upstairs,” she said. Come 
in and eat your dinner.” 

“ Plumber ? ” said the Giant, and followed her 
into the dining-room. 

They shut the door, but the Giant’s roar was so 
loud that Wendell could still hear his part of the 
conversation, like one end of a telephone talk. 

‘‘ Where is the leak ? ” 


‘‘ How did you know there was one, then ? ” 


No, I didn’t. No such thing.” 


‘‘ Well, if he said I called him up, he’s probably a gang 
of thieves. I’ll get the police. What did he look like ? ” 


72 


irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


“ With a small boy, eh ? I knew I smelled small 
boy. ril bet he’s one of these Giant-killer smarties. 
I’ll soon fix him.” He rose, shaking the house with 
his heavy tread. 

Wendell was a brave boy, but who wouldn’t quail 
before an angry giant ? Wendell quailed. He looked 
around for a place to hide. 

The bathroom occupied a little ell with eaves, and 
under the eaves ran a wainscoting, broken by a little 
door that was evidently the entrance to a low closet. 
Wendell opened it and crawled in, not quite closing 
the door, as it had no handle on the inside. He 
crouched behind a trunk, pulled down some old 
clothes from a nail to cover him, and kept very still, 
all but his heart, which thumped loudly. 

“ They’re not here,” he heard the Stepmother say. 
‘‘ It looks as if they were coming back, though.” 

“ They are here,” roared the Giant. “ The small 
boy’s here. I can smell him. He’s in that closet.” 

He flung open the door. 

‘‘ Bring a light,” he commanded. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE CLOAK OF DARKNESS 

IE Stepmother went out and 
came back with a flashlight. 

“ Here,” she said. 

The Giant flashed it into the 
closet, yanked out the trunk, 
flashed the light in again, 
straight into Wendell’s face, as 
he crouched there half-covered 
by old clothes. 

“ He isn’t here,” said the 
Giant. 

‘‘ No,” said his wife. 

‘‘ He’s been in here, though,” declared the Giant, 
sniffing. ‘‘ Strong smell of him.” 

‘‘ Probably the man had him crawl in there to see 
if there was any leak in the connection,” suggested 
the Stepmother. “ I hope he’ll come back and finish 
up soon. This place is a mess.” 

What did it mean ? They were looking straight 
at him. The light was shining full on him. Yet 
they didn’t see him, not any more than if he were 
invisible. 

Invisible ! Why, of course ! The invisible cloak — 
the Cloak of Darkness that he had come to find ! 

73 



74 


IT’S YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


It must be this musty old garment that he had 
pulled down to conceal him in his fright. Sure 
enough ! And now came the terrifying thought, — 
in another moment the door might be closed upon 
him, and he shut fast in a prison from which there 
would be no easier escape than if it were a veritable 
Giant’s dungeon in a fairy book. He must get out 
at once. He drew the musty folds securely about 
him, crawled forward, dodged under the Giant’s very 
arm, squeezed close to the wall to pass the Step- 
mother, made himself small, not to crowd the Ugly 
Stepsister, all agog in the doorway, slid down the 
banisters, sneaked through the kitchen, out the back 
door, and away. He was free ! 

He scudded down the street as fast as his legs could 
twinkle, and turned the corner. Which way to go, 
was the question. A nice-looking lady was ap- 
proaching. Wendell politely took off his cap and 
confronted her as she reached him. To his surprise, 
the lady sailed by without twitching a feature. 

Oh, of course. She can’t see me,” said Wendell. 
So he slipped off the cloak and hung it over his arm, 
and in a moment a grocer’s delivery boy with a 
basket came around the curve. 

‘‘ Say, can you tell me where to get the car for 
Park Street ? ” asked Wendell. 

‘‘ Sure, kid,” said the boy obligingly. ‘‘ Keep on 
to a big house with a stone wall around it. Then 
take the first street to the right and you’ll come out 
on the car line.” 

Wendell thanked him and went on, found the house 
and the wall and the street, and there ahead of him 


THE CLOAK OF DARKNESS 


75 


were the electric wires. He got to the corner almost 
simultaneously with the car, hailed it and jumped 
on with a sigh of relief. It was a pay-as-you-enter 
car. He stood by the box and slid his hand into his 
pocket for the necessary dime, to realize with a shock 
that he hadn’t a cent with him. These were his 
cast-off clothes. He knew it was useless to search 
the pockets. He remembered he had gone through 
them a week ago, when the ice cream-sandwich man 
was going by. He grinned at the conductor, feeling 
very foolish, and dropped off the car. 

Well, of course, he could walk it all right, since he 
had to. It would be simple to follow the car tracks. 
He stuck his hands in his pockets and started off 
whistling. 

‘‘ Hey, kid, you’re dragging your mother’s cape,” 
said a young fellow who passed him. Wendell folded 
the Cloak of Darkness into a better shape for carry- 
ing, then decided to wear it. After he had it on, 
the inspiration came to him to board an electric at 
the next white post, and ride home free. 

Perfectly simple ! He got on behind an unsus- 
pecting gentleman and took a seat near the door. 
Across the aisle sat a cross-eyed man. Wendell had 
always longed for a chance to see how a cross-eyed 
man worked his eyes, but he had never been allowed 
to stare at any one. Now he sat and stared to his 
heart’s content, unforbidden and unseen. He stared 
with such concentration that he was unaware that 
another passenger had entered the car, a very stout 
old colored woman, until, ouch ! she sat right down 
on him ! 


76 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


“ Laws-ee ! ” she said, and rose up quickly, and 
Wendell jumped for another seat as fast as his 
crushed condition would permit. The old woman 
turned to apologize — to an empty seat ! Her jaw 
dropped in surprise, she glared all around the car, 
and then lowered herself cautiously into the seat, still 
muttering. 

Wendell felt so secure in his invisibility, that he 
made no attempt to restrain his laughter. He roared 
with mirth, and rocked, and slapped his knee, till he 
noticed that the passengers were all looking to see 
which one of them was responsible for this unseemly 
noise. This struck Wendell as funnier than ever. 
He laughed uncontrollably, but he didn’t forget 
again to keep an eye on the door ; and whenever any- 
one got on after that, Wendell rose to his feet with a 
promptitude that would have earned him a medal as 
the most courteous boy in Greater Boston, if the 
Courtesy Contest Editor of the Post could have seen 
him. 

As the car proceeded northward, the seats were 
filled more and more, till there was no room for Wen- 
dell to sit. Towards the end of his ride, it really was 
too crowded for comfort, for other standing passen- 
gers stood on his feet, and wedged him in to small 
spaces, and lurched against him with the motion of 
the car, and then apologized to somebody else, till 
he was very glad when they arrived at Park Street, 
and he could run for home. He went in with the 
cloak under his arm and hid it in his bureau drawer. 


CHAPTER XII 

BLIND MAN’S BUFF WITH THE GIANT 

IE Pixie dropped in as usual 
after supper, and tried to act 
as if nothing had happened ; 
but he can’t get away with 
said Wendell to himself. 
‘‘ Hello, old sport,” said the 
Pixie in an offhand way. 
‘‘ How are the fractions ? ” 

“ Oh, they’re all there,” re- 
turned Wendell, ‘‘ but, I say, 
what do you mean by sneak- 
ing off and leaving me this 
afternoon ? I’d like to know that.” 

“ I didrCt sneak,” said the Pixie indignantly. “ I 
mentioned that I was going. I never sneak.” 

‘‘ I’d like to know what you call it then. You 
didn’t wait for me, did you ? ” 

‘‘ Oh ! ” said the Pixie. Why, I’m awfully sorry, 
old chap. I thought you weren’t ready to come 
home when I left.” 

Why didn’t you wait till I was, then ? ” 

‘‘ Why, that would have seemed so like hurrying 
you,” explained the Pixie, gently. No one can do a 
77 



78 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


really artistic job with that being-waited-for feeling. 
By the way, did you make any headway ? Get any 
line on the cloak ^ ” 

Yes, I got it all right,” said Wendell. But you 
might have waited to see.” 

I hope I didn’t seem rude,” said the Pixie, peni- 
tently. Really, to be frank, I never did take much 
interest in the second-hand clothing trade ; and 
perhaps I made it too evident that I was a bit bored. 
I’ll wait for you next time.” 

‘‘ You can take it from me there won’t be any next 
time,” returned Wendell in a rude voice that was a 
sad contrast to the Pixie’s ge<titlemanly manner. 
‘‘ I’m going alone to-morrow. I guess the Cloak of 
Darkness will be worth several dozens of your old 
transformations. So there ! ” 

I am sure you will regret this hasty expression 
of feeling when you take time to think it over, my 
dear young friend,” said the Pixie, gravely yet kindly. 
‘‘ I think I would better leave you until you come to 
your better self.” 

He instantly vanished from sight. 

A few minutes later he put his head in at the door 
and said in a forgiving tone, “ There are your frac- 
tions,” and shut the door again. 

Wendell felt much aggrieved. He knew that the 
Pixie had treated him badly, and was now trying to 
make it appear that he was at fault, and he resolved 
that he would really go all alone for the Cap of 
Thought and rely entirely upon the Cloak of Darkness 
for/ his success. So after school the next day, he 
rolled the Cloak of Darkness under his arm, made 


BLIND MAN’S BUFF WITH THE GIANT 79 


sure that he had enough money for carfare in his 
pockets this time, and took the car at Park Street for 
Brookline. 

After he got off the car, Wendell adjusted the Cloak 
of Darkness, and walked on with entire assurance 
and a high spirit of adventure to the Giant’s house. 

He went up the neat brick steps and tried the front 
door with great caution. But it did not yield. 
Then he went around to the back door, and that was 
much better, for the door was open, and he walked 
straight in and found the Cruel Stepmother and the 
Ugly Stepsister getting dinner in the kitchen. 

These grapes aren’t very good. Mummer,” re- 
marked the young lady, not nearly so good as the 
ones last week.” 

‘‘ Naturally,” returned the witch, somewhat grimly. 
‘‘ I had to pay for these.” 

Oh, of course,” said her daughter. “ You didn’t 
have your Cloak of Darkness when you went market- 
ing to-day.” 

‘‘ And the High Cost of Living is something awful 
when the market-man can see you every minute, and 
you can’t take a thing without paying for it,” com- 
plained her mother. ‘‘ If I don’t find that Cloak 
soon, I just hope the government will get after those 
dishonest profiteers.” 

Mummer,” said her daughter, thoughtfully, after 
a moment. 

‘‘ Well ? ” 

Wasn’t your Cloak in the bathroom closet ? ” 

“ Yes, but I’ve hunted all through and I’m sure it 
isn’t there.” 


80 


irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


“ But, Mummer, — I hate to think of it — but 
those plumbers yesterday — ” 

The witch gasped and sat down heavily. My 
word ! You’re right ! That’s just where it’s gone ! ” 
‘‘ And the Cap of Thought — was that with it ? ” 
“ No, I’m glad to say. That’s in my bottom 
bureau drawer.” 

Wendell waited for no more. He tiptoed out and 
ran lightly upstairs. Now, which room was it ^ 
This front one, of course. He opened the lowest 
drawer of the bureau. Yes, there it lay, a little filmy 
cap of indescribable color. 

The front door banged suddenly. Wendell picked 
up the cap and tiptoed into the hall and looked over 
the banisters. Ah ! but he was thankful then for 
the Cloak of Darkness. For there stood the Giant. 
And while Wendell watched him, fascinated and 
secure, the Giant’s huge nose began to twitch like a 
rabbit’s, he sniffed, and then roared out, 

“Fee, fi, fo, fum ! I smell the blood — - no, I 
zvon’t be quiet ! — of an Englishman. Be he alive — 
well, your cook’s gone, isn’t she ? she can’t be any 
goner ! — or be he dead. I’ll grind his bones — hold 
on ! it smells just like that boy that was here yester- 
day. Where is he ? ” He bellowed out the ques- 
tion. 

This roused tremendous excitement in the family. 
Both women talked at once: — “ the little wretch ! ” 
— “ positive he stole my Cloak ” — “ got away in- 
visible ” — “ shan’t get away this time ” — “ Lock 
the doors, mummer ! ” — “ but we can’t see him ” — 
“ I’ll soon sniff him out ” — this last from the Giant. 


BLIND MAN'S BUFF WITH THE GIANT 81 

Wendell stood transfixed at the head of the stairs, 
clutching the Cap. Did he dare descend No, for 
the Giant growled out, He’s upstairs, all right,” 
and started up the flight. Wendell fled before him 
and turned back into the front bedroom, the Giant 
sniffing close at his heels. 

There was an open window in the room, but Wen- 
dell dared not risk a jump from the second story. 
There ran rapidly through his mind all the expedients 
that he could remember, from his reading of wild 
animal books, for throwing the hunter off the trail 
of the quarry. If he could double on his track, — 
but the track was too short. If he could climb to a 
height and break the scent by leaping off, — but the 
chiffonier was the highest thing in sight. If he could 
follow a stream of running water. He wondered 
whether there was anything to gain by making a 
dash for the bathroom. The Giant had adopted a 
horribly sure method. Crouching at the height of a 
boy, with hands outstretched to touch the wall on 
either side, he advanced slowly across the room. 
Wendell stood at bay in a corner, helpless, desperate, 
but still game. 

Just then the telephone rang. The Giant paused 
to say, “ If that’s for me, I can’t be bothered now. 
Take the number and say I’ll call ’em later,” and 
that one moment of interruption gave Wendell a 
chance to duck under the mighty monster’s arm and 
seek refuge in the other corner behind his back. But 
he knew that his respite was but momentary. Al- 
though the Ugly Stepsister had gone to answer the 
telephone, the Witch still blocked the door, and as 


82 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


the Giant reached the other wall fruitlessly, he sniffed 
intently and once more started across the room. 
Wendell felt sure that he stood face to face with his 
last moment of life. He jammed the Cap on his head 
to leave both hands free, drew out and opened his 
jackknife and prepared to sell his life dearly. 





















:5:-‘5t^L<iW 


■a 


mmmrn^ 


,VA' 










HE SAW THE GIANT PASS THE WINDOW AGAIN 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE CAP OF THOUGHT 

.MOST drowned by the con- 
tinuous bellow of the Giant, 
and yet coming distinctly to 
his consciousness, he seemed to 
hear, or rather feel, a low 
monotonous voice that bore a 
resemblance to the Giant’s 
speaking tone, and yet had no 
quality of roar about it : — 
“ I must shut that window. If 
he should jump out of that to 
the porch roof, he could easily 
climb down the trellis.” 

It was the Giant, thinking ! 

Wendell took a chance and jumped for the window. 
Just in time ! As he landed on the porch roof, the 
window was slammed behind him. He went back- 
wards down the trellis, and just before his eyes 
dropped below the level, he saw the Giant pass the 
window again, pursuing the scent, which doubtless 
still lingered. Spent and breathless though he was, 
fright urged the boy on, and he ran two blocks, then 
dropped under a tree in a garden and lay at full 
83 



84 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


length on hts back with the Cloak around him. He 
lay there a long while, slowly recovering from his 
terrible exhaustion and gradually getting his nerve 
back. At length he rose, took off and folded his 
Cloak, put on his cloth cap, which he had stuffed 
into his pocket on entering the Giant’s house, and 
walked on to the electric car. He had quite for- 
gotten the Cap of Thought, which he was still wear- 
ing under his own cap, — and that single fact shows 
how dazed the encounter with the Giant had left 
him. But as soon as he got on the car, he was re- 
minded of the Cap by the babel of thoughts that 
greeted him. The undercurrent was a low ex- 
pressionless hum blending indistinctly from minds 
intent upon the newspapers ; but other thoughts 
reached him clearly and stridently : — “If the 
stores aren’t closed. I’ll try to get some of that blue 
denim for Jackie’s overalls.” “ If he does ask me 
to the next dance, I really think I ought to have a 
new pink georgette.” “ I can’t account for that 
dollar — let me see, fifteen cents for the cigar, 
seventeen cents for the soda, that leaves sixty-eight 
and five ” — . Above them all, one insistent thought 
reiterated, savagely, “ If he calls me that again, I’ll 
show him where he gets off ! ” 

Wendell was very anxious to examine the Cap of 
Thought more closely. The brief time that he had 
held it in his hands in the Giant’s house had been so 
crowded with other impressions that he had but an 
indistinct conception of his new treasure. He went 
straight to his room and took it off and was delighted 
with its beauty. At first sight it seemed to be made 


THE CAP OF THOUGHT 


85 


of gray cobwebs closely woven together into an al- 
most colorless fabric, but in certain lights it looked 
as if woven of strands of glass in rainbow colors. As 
there was no one upstairs to try its magic properties 
on, Wendell decided to wear it in the library after 
dinner, and find out what his family was thinking 
about. He noticed in the glass, with great satis- 
faction, that the Cap took on the color of his own 
brown hair, so that it was barely visible. 

There was a pleasant group in the library when he 
joined them after dinner. They were all very quiet. 
His mother was darning stockings, his father read- 
ing the Transcript and occasionally reading some 
item aloud, and his Latin School brother playing 
checkers with Cousin Virginia. Yet the room was 
filled, to Wendell’s sensitive consciousness, with a 
fine hum, as of conversatibn. He sat down quietly 
behind his mother, who had not heard him come in. 

And then,” she went on thinking, he will step 
down from the stage, with everyone applauding 
wildly and saying, ‘ Yes, that’s the one. That’s 
Wendell Cabot Bradford, the prize orator, the great- 
est public speaker Harvard has ever produced.’ ” 
Turning, she saw Wendell, gave him a loving smile, 
and wondered why he looked so red and uncomfort- 
able. 

He tried his father next, and was greatly interested 
to hear two trains of thought going on in his mind at 
once, one on the widening of State Street (the sub- 
ject discussed in the editorial that he was reading), 
and the other apparently a memory of a telephone 
conversation he had held that afternoon with the 


86 


IT’S YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


head-master of Wendell’s school. He seemed to be 
turning over in his mind, while he read the editorial, 
the best method of introducing the subject under 
discussion into a conversation with Wendell ; and 
as the subject under discussion had been the very 
painful one of Wendell’s low standing, Wendell de- 
cided to go to bed at once. He paused long enough 
to learn that his brother Otis’ thought had nothing 
to do with checkers, but was idly resting on a dimple 
in the cheek of a Dedham girl named Dorothy, whom 
Wendell had never heard of (but he treasured the 
name in memory for future diplomatic use) ; and 
that Cousin Virginia was thinking : — ‘‘ Oh, to be in 
New York now the toddle’s there ! Boston ! Check- 
ers ! ! Baked Beans ! ! ! Antimacassars ! ! ! ! Sil- 
houettes ! ! ! ! ! Pantalettes !!!!!!! I shall die ! ” 

The telephone rang. Wendell offered to go, as he 
was just starting for bed anyway.” It proved to 
be someone asking for him. 

‘‘ Do you know who this is ? ” asked an eager 
girlish voice. ‘‘ Can’t you guess } It’s the Beaute- 
ous Maiden. I knew you would want to hear from 
me, but I had such a time finding you ! I didn’t 
know how you were listed. Yes, I’m getting on beau- 
tifully. Oh, yes, the contract is signed. We did it 
that day. The president of the producing company 
is delighted with me. He says I shall film beauti- 
fully. He says my youth, innocence, and beauty 
will make me the most popular girl in America. 
— How are you progressing with the invisible cloak } 
— You have 1 How perfectly splendid ! And the 
Cap of — ? You have ? How perfectly wonder- 


THE CAP OF THOUGHT 


87 


ful ! And the Book ? No, I don’t know where she 
keeps it. I never saw it. But she always keeps 
the attic locked and never let me up there, so that 
might be — Oh, let me give you my ’phone number. 
You must let me know, of course, how it comes out.” 

Wendell wrote it down, but there was a queer 
sinking in the place where he kept his heart — or his 
stomach : he didn’t know which. He was remember- 
ing the Kobold’s remark about marrying the Beaute- 
ous Maiden. Whenever he thought of it, he was 
attacked by that same curious sinking. What a 
brainless fellow that Kobold was, to be sure, just as 
the Pixie had said ! He rather wished he hadn’t 
been so short with the Pixie last night. He was a 
well-meaning chap, after all, and a fiend at fractions. 

When he got upstairs to his room, there was the 
Pixie waiting for him, and Wendell was really very 
glad to see him, and decided not to reopen the sub- 
ject of the Pixie’s precipitate flight from the Giant’s 
house. 

The Pixie was tremendously interested in the Cap 
of Thought. He tried it on, and also the Cloak of 
Darkness, and had Wendell try them both on to show 
how they worked. And the Pixie gave some very 
kind advice as to getting possession of the magic book, 
and offered to work some of his best transformation 
spells ; but Wendell had his plan all made and laid 
it before the Pixie. It was, to go out very early 
Saturday morning, when he would have a holiday 
from school, watch the house till the Giant had left, 
and thus have the whole day ahead of him, to search 
the premises. He relied on the magic Cloak and Cap 


88 irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 

to help him out of any difficulties that might 
arise. 

‘‘ Well, perhaps that’s the best plan,” assented 
the Pixie. ‘‘ And of course, if you find it necessary, 
you can count on me to change you into anything 
we think most useful. For instance, you might like 
to be changed to a moving truck, if this magic book 
is like any other magic books I’ve ever seen.” 

‘‘ How do you mean ? ” said Wendell. 

“ Well, the subject matter is pretty heavy, you 
know. It makes the book rather weighty.” 

“ Oh, does it ? ” said Wendell. ‘‘ I didn’t know.” 

“ And another thing I want to warn you of,” said 
the Pixie seriously. ‘‘ Don’t read any charm aloud, 
till you know what it’s for. They ought to make 
those magic books fool-proof, but they don’t.” 

“ I’ll remember,” said Wendell. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE MAGIC BOOK 

ENDELL had counted on 
having a good deal of 
sport with the Cloak of 
Darkness and the Cap of 
Thought, wearing them 
around the house and 
outdoors, and even in 
school, but he was a bit 
afraid to risk any acci- 
dent to them before the 
eventful Saturday. So 
he locked them securely 
in his chiffonier until that morning. 

It was usually very hard to get him to wake up 
Saturday mornings, but this Saturday was an ex- 
ception. He was up with the lark, — if there had 
been any, — ate his breakfast before the rest of the 
family came down, and was soon on his way over 
the now familiar route, to the Brookline house. He 
had timed it nicely. The Giant was just leaving as 
he got there ; and Wendell, only too well aware that 
his scent was now well-known to the Giant, scuttled 
down a side street until the monster was out of sight. 

89 



90 


irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


Into the familiar kitchen once more, and all 
through the house, went Wendell. The mother and 
daughter were doing the upstairs work and Wendell 
sat around with them for some time, following a 
confusion of most uninteresting household details 
that ran through their minds. 

At length he was repaid. 

“ I guess ril get my warm quilt out for the winter,’’ 
thought the girl. “ It’s getting cold these nights. 
Now, where did Mummer put that attic key i If I 
ask her, she probably won’t tell me, just to be mean. 
I’ll hunt around, instead.” 

Presently, the Witch went downstairs, and her 
daughter took that opportunity to look through her 
mother’s bureau drawers ; and after some search, 
she found it. 

‘‘ I’d better wait,” she thought, ‘‘ till Mummer 
goes marketing. Then I’ll put the key back again 
and say nothing about it.” 

But she had no sooner gone downstairs, herself, 
than Wendell took the key and unlocked the attic 
door. He took the precaution of locking it again 
on the inside, so that there could be no intrusion 
while he was searching for the Book. He chuckled 
to think how chagrined the Ugly Stepsister would 
be when she went to look for the key and thought 
her mother had changed its hiding-place. 

The attic was a large unfinished room with peaked 
roof. It was only in the middle that one could stand 
upright. There was some old furniture and there 
were several trunks. Wendell tried the trunks first. 
One was locked, with the key still in the lock, and 


THE MAGIC BOOK 


91 


opened easily. And there, inside, among a store of 
pillow cases and towels, lay what was undoubtedly 
the Magic Book. It was as easy as that ! 

The Book was about as large as Webster’s Un- 
abridged. It was bound in very dark, smooth 
leather, all worn and frayed at the corners, and 
fastened with a heavy iron clasp. It did look heavy, 
just as the Pixie had said, but Wendell seized it 
firmly, and attempted to lift it with an energy that 
almost pulled his arms from their sockets. For the 
Book didn’t lift a fraction of an inch. It might have 
been soldered to the trunk. 

My ! It is weighty ! He was right ! ” gasped 
the boy. 

He tried again, and again ; but the book must 
have weighed tons. There was no lifting it. 

Wendell considered the matter. There must be 
something he could do, — but what f Of course, 
he could go home and tell the Pixie and get changed 
into something strong, — a yoke of oxen, or an ele- 
phant. But this was Saturday. The Pixie had done 
Monday’s fractions Friday night, and probably 
wouldn’t be around again till Monday night. Well, 
well, what a disappointment ! 

He sat down on the edge of the trunk and examined 
the volume. There was no title on the cover. He 
undid the clasp and opened the Book at random. 
Yes, this was undoubtedly it. The quaint old letter- 
ing showed it, the long strange words. He spelled 
out what seemed a perfectly meaningless sentence. 

Whish-sh-sht ! A prolonged rushing noise like a 
sky-rocket, and there stood before him a strange and 


92 


ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


uncouth figure. It was a man somewhat above 
average height, wearing a costume that Wendell 
thought was oriental, though he had never seen any- 
thing like it before. 

‘‘ Who are you ? ” faltered Wendell. 

I am the Slave of the Charm,” replied the 
stranger. ‘‘ I have answered your summons. What 
are your commands ? ” 

I don’t quite understand,” gasped Wendell. 
“ Please explain.” 

‘‘ You said the magic words that summon me,” 
repeated the apparition. “ I am here to do your 
bidding.” 

“ Oh, I see,” said Wendell. “ Good work ! Please 
take this Book home for me.” 

‘‘ I obey,” returned the stranger. He lifted the 
Book on his shoulder, turned down the stairs and 
vanished straight through the locked door. 

Wendell scrambled after him, first drawing around 
him the Cloak of Darkness, which he had thrown off. 
Not being a magic apparition, himself, he was forced 
to unlock the door to get through, and this delayed 
him a moment. So he caught just a glimpse of the 
genie, vanishing through the front door without 
opening it. But the witch and her daughter had 
seen him go and seen the Book on his shoulder ; and 
the daughter’s mind was whirling like a merry-go- 
round, as Wendell easily perceived. 

However, it was quite otherwise with her mother. 
The former witch sat on the lowest step of the stairs, 
with such a happy and peaceful look that Wendell 
hardly knew her. ‘‘ Free at last ! ” she was exulting 



I AM THE SLAVE OF THE CHARM,” REPLIED THE STRANGER 


k’.r.*/ 


m 


It' 




V m M V,- ' 




V' 


' ( 


, V 




I < 


j •, ' 


. ;; 


'Vt' :/ 

1 .' i'l . ♦ I 


> I 


y>'' • 


I J I I . . 

,, I I • I ' 



I ' ' 


• , •" '■ , i 

• : ■< '■! ' r ■’ ■ ^ 


,< ' 


i' 


^'1' 

y.'iy.',': ' 

1 

y 1 ' ■ 


/. 


k 

1 ' -1 1 1 ' • 1 

^ t ^ ' 1 A k 


' k 1 1 - . • * 

, ,1 I ' . * , N / 1 

' > \ ‘ \ t. 

yy : 

1 , 

mV'.,: 

,1 , , * ■ . , . 

1 ' 
V . 

1 / , . » 


I ' 




V 


; 


1 ' I 




\ >. 


• ' ^ 


•• . >s./ 


■ ' ) 


■■■■■-.■. 

; ' ', ■" V - ' 

' ’ V,' ^ 

■ . J ( 1 '».• iVki'j 


1 ' ' 


• ' (' 




'1 ) 


r< ■> 


1 C 


I '• ' • ' 




■ '• '/I'm' 

' • ■ '" V'fM 
'■ 

'■/ --iU^ 

\'. ’■ r 'vl- 

i-'h 


J ■ , I - ' 'H 




I , • 






t 

•}> 


I \. ' 

■ . I 


V;' 


1 1 


' i" .1 


. '-iV !|i.'f,'; ','1 

/ . ;'a;i ,,: .' 

r-'! 


1' I '"; ■ V/ V V V»H 

' ’ . . ' » . ‘j ‘ • 'i; V < '•■'<;•, J'iny 

■ ' y 1 ^ ‘V Jvm 

yy- y''' 




»'.! >■ ■ » , 


.) I • ■' ri (‘ ' ' ' 

f : !■'•' •' ■’ t'' 1 -' ' ' 

i i * * * j 


/‘i.i.-y'y' ••• 

• i '' 

' r » .1 . I ■ 


I » r 


< / 


' ^'''y 'v:^■,y'y^\y^yyy''■W^ 

'^^y .'t i!',' yi.y 

I'A .' Ml '■. "'i I ,. '.'(I .•, f ' ' ', '. '' ^ 


• S; ■^.-' ;■ , V' '*' ' ‘ ' •■' 

V'f'/V. I' ■;* y . '" , ' ■■>■ 

'.'.. ,’ i - > V y ' * ‘ ■ i < ' ' ‘ f ‘ 

‘ } '''.f i ■ 


'' . ■ ■.' ; 


■yvf/p aS)/' y - '’'y,' ; ' ' yy ' y '' y; 'y ; v <-'i: w' 

i-l?lyfyyt;-'y'yfy’y'y'y 





THE MAGIC BOOK 


93 


inwardly. “ I have lost the Cloak and the Cap and 
now the Book, and at last I am disenchanted.’’ 
Wendell was glad she felt so good about it. He 
stayed invisible, never-the-less, and hurried out after 
his slave, who was now nowhere in sight. His trail 
could be followed, however, by a long line of small 
boys, stringing out after him as if they were running 
to a fire. As it seemed impossible to overtake him on 
foot, Wendell took an electric for home. Evidently, 
his slave was there before him, to judge from the ex- 
citement that still reigned among the boys on his 
block. Say, Wendell,” they hailed him, “ you 
ought to ’a seen the guy that just went into your 
house ! ” 

Wendell found the front door intact, and went up 
to his room. There on his study table lay the Book. 
The slave had vanished. Wendell’s first impulse was 
to read it from cover to cover, but he was mindful of 
the Pixie’s warning. He had already had one demon- 
stration of the wonderful power and immediate 
operation of its charms. This once, it had turned 
out very neatly for him, but he might not be so 
fortunate another time. So he opened the Book very 
gingerly and pressed his lips tight together, for fear 
of being betrayed by his intense interest into reading 
some powerful and dangerous passage aloud. 

The first thing that Wendell noticed was that it 
was all written or printed by hand and was evi- 
dently the work of different persons ; that is, the 
letters, some in print, some in script, changed their 
character from page to page, and the ink was in vary- 
ing degrees of paleness, as if the transcription had 


94 ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 

been made at different epochs. Wendell observed 
also that the pages of paper differed. In fact, some 
of them were not paper at all. There were pages of 
very thin leather of different shades, and a sort of 
tough fibrous substance (that was parchment, had 
Wendell known it), and some strips of bark, like bark 
of the birch or ash. And there were paper leaves, 
also, but yellowed and old, none of it modern. The 
Book was evidently a bound collection of old manu- 
scripts, brought together from what sources, by what 
means, and through how many ages, the boy could 
not even guess. But it was a fascinating thing for 
magic-loving Wendell to examine, even though much 
of it was unintelligible, and much more of no possible 
use to Wendell. He turned the brittle, fragile pages 
with the utmost care, fingering each at the right-hand 
top corner, and turning the entire page with his flat 
hand, very, very carefully. 

The titles of the chapters, or charms, or whatever 
they were, delighted him beyond measure : — 

‘‘HOW TO TURN WOOD INTO SILVER. 

HOW TO TURN BASE METALS INTO GOLD. 

HOW TO MAKE IRON FLOAT. 

TO CHANGE AN INFANT PRINCE INTO A 
HUMMING BIRD. 

TO CUT OFF A DRAGON’S HEAD. 

HOW TO UNDERSTAND THE LANGUAGE 
OF BIRDS. 

HOW TO MAKE A FLYING SHIP.” (“Huh! 
Magic aviation ! ” commented Wendell.) 


THE MAGIC BOOK 


95 


“THE EASIEST WAY TO DISENCHANT A 
DUMB PRINCESS. 

HOW TO MAKE WINGED SANDALS. 

SOME TRIED METHODS FOR KILLING 
GIANTS.” 

“ There you are, Wendell, my boy,” said a friendly 
voice, and Wendell looked around and found that the 
Pixie was looking over his shoulder at the Book. 


CHAPTER XV 


A CHOICE OF CHARMS 

TLO, old sport ! ” said Wen- 
dell ; didn’t expect you 

till Monday.” 

Oh, I just dropped in,” 
said the Pixie. Great book, 
isn’t it ? But, go easy, son, 
go easy. Danger, you know.” 

Yes, I am going easy,” 
said Wendell. “ I haven’t 
read one word out loud. It’s 
some book, though ! ” 

Let’s read that thing about 
giants,” suggested the Pixie. “ That ought to just 
suit your case.” 

I suppose there’s no harm in reading this aloud,” 
said Wendell, hesitatingly. “ Just sort of directions, 
you see.” 

“ Go slowly,” commanded the Pixie. ‘‘ And if you 
see any charm coming to meet you, stop short.” 
Wendell read : — 

■ ‘‘‘SOME TRIED METHODS FOR KILLING 
GIANTS. 



“ ‘ Method ye first : — To kill a giant — ’ ” 


A CHOICE OF CHARMS 


97 


Put salt on his tail,” interpolated the Pixi^. 

‘‘ Please listen,” said Wendell, and went on, — 

‘ Dig a hole deeper than his height a few steps 
from his door. Cover it with branches of trees. 
Standing on the further side, away from his house, 
taunt him in a loud voice. When he rushes out, he 
will fall into the hole, and can be easily despatched.’ ” 

‘‘ By whom ? ” inquired the Pixie, after deep 
thought. ‘‘ I vote, not by me.” 

Well, here’s another,” said Wendell. ‘‘ ‘ Method 
ye second : — Assume the disguise of a wayworn 
traveler. Knock at the giant’s door and ask for a 
night’s lodging.’ — I can’t do that,” said Wendell. 

He knows me by smell.” 

‘‘ Never mind. Read it through,” said the Pixie. 

“ ^ He will tell you that he has no extra bed, but 
that you are welcome to share his son’s.’ — Yes, but 
he hasn’t a son,” said Wendell. 

‘‘Nevermind. It’s interesting. Goon,” said the 
Pixie. 

“ ‘ When you go to bed, he will put a gold chain 
around his son’s neck and a hempen rope round your 
neck. As soon as he has left you, put the hempen 
rope round his son’s neck and the gold chain round 
your own neck, and then feign sleep. After a time, 
the giant will return. He will feel for the gold chain, 
and finding it on your neck, and the hempen rope 
on his son’s neck, he will cut off his son’s head with 
his sword. You must then wait until you hear the 
giant’s snores, and rising quickly ’ — ” 

“ Taking care,” suggested the Pixie, “ not to step 
on a tack.” 


98 


irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


‘ — make your way to his bedside, and lop off 
his head with his own sword.’ ” 

Too much shortening in that recipe,” said the 
Pixie. ‘‘ Try another.” 

‘‘ ‘ Giant-killing as recommended by Puss-in- 
Boots,’ ” read Wendell. ‘ Invite the giant to a feast 
at your castle, and after he is in a good humor, make 
a wager that you can change yourself into an animal 
more quickly than he can. Change yourself into a 
cat ; and whatever form the giant assumes, whether 
that of lion, tiger, leopard, or what-not, let the on- 
lookers declare that the contest is a draw and that the 
trial must be made again. Convince the giant that 
in order to insure a perfectly fair trial, both con- 
testants should change to the same shape, and choose 
that of a mouse. At the word, allow the giant to take 
the shape of a mouse, while you retain that of a cat, 
and immediately devour him.’ ” 

‘‘ That sounds rather good,” said the Pixie ap- 
provingly. You’d have to practice your trans- 
formations at home, first, of course, and be sure you 
have the charm down pat.” 

Wendell did not answer immediately. ‘‘ Say, that 
gives me an idea,” he finally declared. Why kill 
the Giant, anyway ? ” 

‘‘ To please the Beauteous Maiden, of course,” said 
the Pixie. 

‘‘ Yes, but why kill him 't ” questioned Wendell. 

Why not just change him into something good and 
harmless and useful. The Beauteous Maiden would 
like that just as well, wouldn’t she ? ” 

“ Well, you can ask her,” said the Pixie. ‘‘ This is 


A CHOICE OF CHARMS 


99 


the age of labor-saving. Only, killing seems more 
definite, somehow, more final. But you can ask 
her.” 

“ ni try to get her on the ’phone, now,” said 
Wendell, “ and you be thinking up something to 
change him to. And say, look in the Book and find 
the charm for it.” 

Wendell was gone for some time. ‘‘ I couldn’t get 
her,” he said when he returned. ‘‘ But I’m sure 
she’ll be willing. We’ll go ahead and plan some- 
thing anyway. Did you find a charm ? ” 

Oh, yes, loads of them,” said the Pixie. Just 
listen to these : — 

‘‘ ‘TO CHANGE A HUMAN BEING INTO A 
TURTLE. 

TO CHANGE A HUMAN BEING INTO A 
BUTTERFLY. 

TO CHANGE A HUMAN BEING INTO A 
STONE — ’ That might be good, — 

‘ TO CHANGE A HUMAN BEING INTO A 
DRAGON — ’ He is that already. ” 

“ Hold on,” said Wendell. “ We don’t want any 
of those. Find a general one, to change him into any 
old thing. We can decide what afterwards.” 

“ All right,” said the Pixie. “ I’ll keep on looking, 
and you keep on thinking.” 

“ We might change him into a janitor,” suggested 
Wendell, who had been looking idly out of the window 
until his eye fell on the janitor of Sammy’s apart- 
ment house. “ He’s useful, you know. He puts out 
ashes and runs the furnace.” 


100 irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


Oh, that would never do,” cried the Pixie. 
‘‘ That Giant has shown he can’t be trusted in any 
position of absolute authority and unlimited despot- 
ism. You must curtail his powers instead of en- 
larging them.” 

“ A cook would be good,” said Wendell, who really 
had a very practical mind. ‘‘ My mother and all her 
friends say there aren’t enough cooks to go ’round.” 

“ I told you,” said the Pixie wearily, “ you must 
curtail his powers. Just use your brain a little. 
Isn’t the cook the greatest power in the household ? 
Might as well leave him a giant and be done with 
it!” 

“ Well, I can’t think,” said Wendell. I don’t 
know anything useful. A victrola, perhaps. I won- 
der if the Beauteous Maiden has a victrola. I’m 
sure she can think of something, anyhow.” 

Sure enough, the Beauteous Maiden was resource- 
ful enough to meet the situation. She called Wen- 
dell up herself, after school Monday, just as he was 
going to the telephone to try to get her. 

Of course, Wendell had not been idle over Sunday. 
He had made himself thoroughly familiar with all 
the various charms for transforming people that he 
could find in the Book. There was one first-class 
charm that suited him to perfection, because it was 
adaptable. With this charm, you could change any- 
thing to anything else, anywhere, at any time. Wen- 
dell practiced with it, in a harmless sort of way, quite 
a little, to be sure he could work it. He changed his 
eraser to a bean-shooter, first, and shot beans at some 
cats on the back fence. Then he changed a very 


A CHOICE OF CHARMS 


101 


handsome and unread copy of Macaulay’s History of 
England that his aunt had given him into a gold 
watch, which, however, he was careful to keep out 
of sight of the family, especially Cousin Virginia. He 
changed an old pen-wiper into a box of caramels. 
That was an inspiration. And in Sunday school he 
changed a hymnal into a mouse that ran across the 
Sunday school room and made quite a diversion. 
That was one of his successes. He did another 
interesting thing. He changed Sammy’s janitor into 
a crab just as he was crossing the street. That was 
an easy change, because Sammy’s janitor was some- 
thing of a crab, anyway. He changed him back again, 
though, because a street on Beacon Hill is no place for 
a crab. By the time he heard from the Beauteous 
Maiden, he felt quite ready to carry out any sug- 
gestions she might offer. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE HAPPY FAMILY 



HAVE so much to tell you,’^ 
said the Beauteous Maiden’s 
happy voice over the tele- 
phone. ‘‘ Listen. I’ve heard 
from Mummer. She ’phoned. 
My Cruel Stepmother, you 
know, only she isn’t any 
more. She says she is en- 
tirely disenchanted, and she 
was perfectly lovely to me. 
I told her all about you, and 
she was so pleased. She wants 
to meet you, of course, but I thought it was safer to 
wait until you had killed the Giant. Mummer says 
he’s terribly hard to get on with, now that she’s 
stopped being a witch. He doesn’t like it a bit. 
When do you think you can kill him ” 

“ I want to ask you about that,” interrupted Wen- 
dell, and he laid his plan before her. The Beauteous 
Maiden was very enthusiastic over it.” 

“ Better ! ” she exclaimed. “ Oh, much better ! 
Now what shall he be changed to ? Something use- 
ful, as you say.” 


102 



THE HAPPY FAMILY 


103 


“ I thought of a victrola,” urged Wendell, who was 
fond of music. “ You haven’t a victrola, have you ? 
And every family needs one.” 

“ No — o, we haven’t,” said the Beauteous Maiden. 
‘‘ That’s rather good, if we can’t think of any- 
thing better. But, let me see. What we really 
need in our family, more than a victrola, even, is 
Social Placement, — Background, — that sort of 
thing, you know. Even with Youth, Innocence, and 
Beauty, you do need Background, too, if you know 
what I mean. And it’s been an awfully hard thing 
to manage — impossible, really — with a Giant and 
a Witch right in plain sight in the family. Now what 
can you change the Giant to that will be most useful 
for Background ? ” 

Mayflower Society ? ” said Wendell. ‘‘ Sons 
of the American Revolution ? We have a lot of 
those in our family. That’s what you mean, isn’t 
it .? ” 

“ In a way,” said the Beauteous Maiden. ‘‘ But 
those things aren’t any use unless they are handled 
properly. I’ll tell you the kind of thing I mean, — 
a Harvard professor, say. That would give us At- 
mosphere as well as Background.” 

‘‘ But they’d have to create a special Chair for him, 
wouldn’t they ^ ” hesitated Wendell. 

‘‘ Why, no,” said the Beauteous Maiden. “ You’ll 
change him down small, of course, and then he can 
use any chair they have.” 

Well, all right,” said Wendell. I’ll do it this 
afternoon, if you like.” 

“ Oh, will you ? ” cried the Beauteous Maiden. 


104 irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


“ That will be simply wonderful. And we’ll go out to 
call on them tomorrow afternoon if you can.” 

So it was settled. Wendell was to work the charm 
at once and meet the Maiden at the Frog Pond after 
school next day. Of course, it was a perfectly easy 
thing for Wendell to do, after all his practice ; so 
he was sure the charm had worked, and felt entirely 
safe in going out to Brookline with the Beauteous 
Maiden next afternoon. She looked very charming 
when he met her at the Frog Pond. Even though not 
liking her general style, Wendell had to admit that 
she was good looking. 

‘‘ Pm making a tremendous success,” she told him. 
‘‘ And listen. I have such good news for the family. 
Pve got a job for my sister in character parts. Isn’t 
that fine ! Poor thing ! Of course she never could 
play anything calling for Youth, Innocence and 
Beauty, but she has just the face for character parts. 
Don’t you think so ” 

How very strange it seemed to Wendell to be 
alighting from the electric at the familiar corner, 
to be retracing his hazardous steps towards that 
dangerous house, in perfect safety, on an entirely 
conventional errand. He said so to the Beauteous 
Maiden, and she smiled and answered softly, 

“ I know you ran some frightful risks for my sake. 
Believe me, I am not unappreciative, as time will 
show.” 

Wendell wished he hadn’t mentioned it. 

The neat white house was unchanged without, but 
the moment the Beauteous Maiden opened the door 
with her latch key and called, “ Mummer, I’m here,” 


THE HAPPY FAMILY 


105 


Wendell was conscious of an entire change in the 
mental atmosphere. The Good Stepmother came 
running out from the kitchen to meet them. Her 
gray hair was arranged in a recent and becoming 
fashion ; she had had her projecting teeth out and had 
some new pivot teeth that looked much better ; and 
she wore an inexpensive but tasteful afternoon frock. 
But the greatest change was in her sweet motherly 
face. She put her arms around the Beauteous 
Maiden, half laughing and half crying, called over 
her shoulder, ‘‘ Daughter, Daughter, here’s your dear 
sister,” and then drew her into the living-room for 
one more kiss. The Beauteous Maiden, for her part, 
looked up at her mother with all her Youth, Inno- 
cence, and Beauty shining in her eyes, and said, 

“ Mummer, dear, you must meet my Deliverer, 
Wendell Bradford. I can’t tell in one breath how 
much he has done for me, but when you know it all, 
you will welcome him as a son even as you welcome 
me as a daughter,” and Wendell found himself folded 
in the Good Stepmother’s embrace. 

He was very much alarmed, and before he could 
escape, he found the Stepsister giving him a sisterly 
kiss too. 

‘‘ You know,” he explained, in horrible embarrass- 
ment, I’m not old enough to think about marrying.” 
He hoped this would end the matter, but the Good 
Stepmother said, “ I know she will wait for you, dear 
boy ; ” at which Wendell writhed, but tried to hide it. 

Then the ex-giant came in, and such a family re- 
union as took place then ! The present professor 
was a scholarly looking man with a benignant face. 


106 irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


He welcomed the Beauteous Maiden with great af- 
fection, and shook Wendell’s hand cordially and called 
him a noble fellow. 

The family had so much to talk about, after their 
long separation, that they hardly knew where to be- 
gin. The Beauteous Maiden had told her mother 
over the telephone all about her success in the 
pictures ; but of course her Stepsister had innumer- 
able questions to ask her, for movie-life is always 
fascinating to non-professionals. When the Step- 
sister heard that the magic doors of movie-land had 
been opened to her, too, through this excellent offer 
to play character parts, she almost wept for joy. 

“ And to think of my envy and jealousy of you, 
dear Sister,” she said, and what kindness you are 
showing to me now, in spite of it all ! ” 

“ Hush ! do not let us speak of that ! ” said the 
Beauteous Maiden. ‘‘ You know, my Youth, Inno- 
cence, and Beauty are equalled only by my Beauty 
of Character.” 

Then the family plans had to be discussed. The 
ex-giant was very happy in his professorship, and 
talked enthusiastically of the courses that he was to 
give, and an annotated text-book that he had been 
asked to edit. 

Then there is the question of my library,” he 
said. “ Have you any idea of the size of a college 
professor’s library ? ” 

Wendell said he hadn’t. 

Well, I haven’t either,” said the Professor. 
‘‘ But I’ve been shopping for a library this morning, 
and I talked with a very intelligent second-hand- 


THE HAPPY FAMILY 


107 


bookstore man. He said five feet was the standard 
length for a student’s library, and he showed me 
several five-foot-lengths that had been turned in 
to him by college students — in excellent condition. 
Some of them, indeed, looked as if they had never 
been opened. I bought ten lengths. Don’t you 
think fifty feet of library should be about right for 
a professor, if five feet is required for a student ? ” 
Wendell and the family, after some intelligent dis- 
cussion of this point, agreed with him. 

Wendell was feeling quite at home with his new 
acquaintances by this time. The Professor sat in a 
big Morris chair with the Beauteous Maiden on a 
cricket at his feet, while his hand strayed lovingly 
among her curls. The Stepsister perched with one 
arm around the Professor’s neck. On the sofa, the 
motherly Stepmother sat beside Wendell and leaned 
over occasionally to pat his hand. It was altogether 
a charming scene of family happiness, such as is too 
rare, alas ! in these modern days of automobiling, jazz, 
and summer camps. Wendell was thinking how happy 
they all seemed, when the Stepsister suddenly said, 
‘‘You’llhavemeforbridesmaid,won’tyou, dearest?” 
“ Of course, dear, if Wendell agrees with me,” said 
the Beauteous Maiden, smiling. 

Poor Wendell ! With all his heart he wished that 
he had never become involved in his heroic role* 
Of course, as Deliverer, he had to marry the Beaute- 
ous Maiden, but he did not conceal from himself the 
fact that he had never really fancied her. ‘‘ Even 
when she was a Frog,” he thought, I didn’t want 
her around.” He was thoroughly unhappy. 


CHAPTER XVII 


SAMMY TRIES HIS HAND 

HE Stepsister brought him some 
lemonade and delicious nut- 
cakes before they left, and 
Wendell felt better after he had 
eaten five of them. Still, he 
was glad when the affectionate 
farewells were over, and he and 
the Beauteous Maiden were 
once more on their way to 
Boston. 

By chance, they met on the 
electrics a friend of the Beaute- 
ous Maiden’s, a moving-picture friend, her leading 
man, in fact. He seemed very, very glad to see the 
Beauteous Maiden. After being introduced to Wen- 
dell, he sat down on the other side of the Beauteous 
Maiden, and began to talk to her very low and 
earnestly. The Beauteous Maiden was evidently 
uncomfortable. She kept turning around and trying 
to include Wendell in the conversation, and she 
laughed a good deal at whatever the young man was 
saying, and tried to make light of what was ap- 
parently to him a serious matter. 

108 



SAMMY TRIES HIS HAND 


109 


Now Wendell had the Cap of Thought in his 
pocket, and as he couldn’t hear one word that the 
young man was saying and the Beauteous Maiden 
evidently didn’t wish him to be left out, he took out 
the Magic Cap and slipped it on under his own cap 
as a convenience. 

Around him rose the confused babble of many 
thoughts ; but to his utmost amazement, close beside 
him was a sound of sobbing, of heart-breaking sob- 
bing, although the Beauteous Maiden was laughing 
gayly. 

And what was she thinking ? ‘‘ Oh, my dear 

Deliverer, I must marry you when you grow up. The 
Deliverer always expects it. And never, never^ shall 
I let you suspect that this young man who plays my 
leading parts is the only man in the world for me, 
that I love him as maiden never loved before. No, 
though his heart and mine shall break, I shall up- 
hold the traditions of all fairy tales and marry you 
according to the book.” 

An old gentleman, reading his paper across the 
aisle, received a great shock at this moment. His 
paper was suddenly dashed from his hand by a boy’s 
cap, which descended suddenly from above. It was 
Wendell’s cap, — not the magic one, — and he had 
thrown it in the air with a sudden Hurrah ! ” as 
he heard what the Beauteous Maiden was thinking. 

After he had picked up the old gentleman’s paper 
and apologized, he pulled at the sleeve of the Beaute- 
ous Maiden and said, 

‘‘ Listen here a minute. I heard what you 
thought.” 


110 irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


‘‘ What do you mean ? ” asked the Maiden. 

I have on the Cap of Thought,” said Wendell. 

“ Why, so you have,” said she. 

‘‘ And I wish you wouldn’t feel so bad,” he went on. 
‘‘ You can marry the young man just as well as not. 
I don’t want you to wait for me. By the time I ’m grown 
up, I may like some other girl better. Anyway, you 
just needn’t consider me. Suit yourself entirely.” 

Do you mean that ? Really ? ” she asked. 

“ I certainly do,” said Wendell fervently. 

“ Oh, how perfectly wonderful ! ” she cried ; and 
then Wendell took off his Cap of Thought, for her 
thoughts of the young man grew so enthusiastic that 
Wendell was rather bored by listening in. 

Well, that’s well over,” he said to himself gayly 

And I’m certainly coming out of this adventure 
all to the good. There’s the Pixie doing my fractions 
for me. There’s the Cloak of Darkness and the Cap 
of Thought whenever I want to do a little sleuthing, 
and there’s the Magic Book for all-’ round enchant- 
ment. I certainly am in luck.” 

At Park Street he said good-bye to the grateful 
Beauteous Maiden and her leading man and started 
along Joy Street for home, with a light-heartedness 
that he had not known for days. He turned into his 
own street and there was Sammy Davis, shinnying 
up a street lamp. 

‘‘ Hi, Sam ! ” he called. ‘‘ Come on over.” He 
suddenly realized that he had lost track of Sammy 
lately, with so many magic tasks on foot. 

Come on in, Sam,” he said. I’ve got something 
to show you.” 


SAMMY TRIES HIS HAND 111 

Sam came in. 

‘‘ It’s up in my room,” said Wendell. ‘‘ Come on 
up.” 

Once there, Wendell brought out the Cloak of 
Darkness. 

Is that all ? ” asked Sammy. 

‘‘ That’s enough, I guess,” said Wendell. “ You 
just wait.” 

He threw the Cloak around his shoulders. Sammy 
stared open-mouthed. He gazed around the room, 
then started up in fright and rushed to the open 
window. 

‘‘ Here I am,” cried Wendell, and stood there 
grinning, visible once more. 

While Sammy still stood staring, Wendell pulled 
the Cloak around himself again, and laughed out- 
right at Sammy’s face. Then he came into sight 
again and asked generously, 

‘‘ Want to try it yourself ? ” 

Of course Sammy wanted to ; and the boys took 
turns being “ it ” in a novel kind of blind-man’s-buff, 
which was a great deal more fun to Wendell than 
when he had played the same game with the Giant. 

After that, Wendell brought out the Cap of 
Thought and adjusted it to his head. “ Now think 
of something, Sammy,” he said. 

‘‘ Think of what ^ ” asked Sammy, his mind 
immediately becoming a perfect blank, as Wendell 
could feel. 

‘‘ Oh, say a verse,” suggested Wendell. ‘‘ That’s 
right : — ‘ Listen, my children, and you shall hear 
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.’ ” 


112 ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


“ Gee, Wendell ! How do you do it ? ” asked 
Sammy in bewilderment. 

“ Try it again,” said Wendell. ‘‘ I get you. ‘ The 
breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock- 
bound coast.’ ” 

I know something,” said Sammy. “ You hold 
on a minute. I got you stung this time.” 

Sure enough ! Though Wendell could get the sounds 
perfectly, they were too unfamiliar for him to repeat. 

“ I can’t say it,” he explained, but I can hear it 
all right. It’s some foreign language. I’ll bet it’s 
Yiddish.” 

Yes, it is,” said Sammy. Now let me try.” 

So Wendell put the Cap on Sammy’s head and 
thought, Sammy Davis, you’re a nut ! ” and 
Sammy grinned and enjoyed the joke on himself. 

Gee, Wendell ! ” said Sammy. ‘‘ You certainly 
are in luck. You can go anywhere and find out any- 
thing. You are a lucky dog ! ” 

‘‘ Yes sir ! ” said Wendell. And I’ll never have 
to study again. I can just wear this Cap in school 
and when the teacher gives out a question. I’ll read 
the answer right in his mind, and say it right off. 
I’ll do that all through school and all through college, 
and then when I’m in business. I’ll put on the Cloak 
and go right into the offices of all the big business 
men. Rockefeller and Henry Ford and everybody, 
and wear the Cap and find out just what they are 
thinking and how they make their money, and I’ll 
make mine the same way.” 

“ Gee ! ” said Sammy again and could find no 
further speech. 






BEFORE THE BOYS’ TERRIFIED VISION STOOD A 
HORRIBLE DEMON 


SAMMY TRIES HIS HAND 


113 


‘‘ And that isn’t all,” said Wendell. Here’s the 
biggest thing yet.” 

‘‘ What is it anyway ? ” demanded Sammy, look- 
ing suspiciously at the magic volume. 

“ J! Book of Spells,’’ said Wendell impressively. 

Huh ! A spelling book, eh ? ” echoed Sammy 
unenthusiastically. 

“ NO, no,” said Wendell. ‘‘ Spells. Charms, you 
know. Enchantments. Look here,” turning the 
pages : ‘‘ ‘ HOW TO TURN BASE METALS INTO 
GOLD.’ ‘THE EASIEST WAY TO DISEN- 
CHANT A DUMB PRINCESS.’ ‘ SOME TRIED 
METHODS FOR KILLING GIANTS.’ ” 

“ Hey ! Lemm^ see,” cried Sammy. “ Some book. 
I’ll say. ‘ HOW TO PLACE A LOST RING IN A 
FISH’S MOUTH.’ What do you know ! ‘ HOW 
TO LOCATE THE PLACE WHERE TREASURE 
IS BURIED.’ Some book. I’ll tell the world ! Say, 
some of this don’t make much sense, does it ? ‘ Aha- 
cadabra, alaka, balaka, — ’ ” he spelled out a word or 
two. 

A horrible odor filled the room, — like burnt 
scrambled eggs, thought Wendell. There floated be- 
fore his eyes a dimness as of smoke. It took shape 
of an awful humanness, and took color as of white 
ashes. It slowly took on a dull glow, which bright- 
ened until before the boys’ terrified vision stood a 
horrible demon, angrily glowing a fiery red. He 
gave out heat like a kitchen stove on ironing-day, 
and the rug where he stood began to smoke. 

“ What are your commands ? ” he hissed. 

There were none. Both boys were through the 


114 ITS YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 

door and downstairs before he had finished the 
question. Sammy fled in terror before that frightful 
apparition, and Wendell went to bring Sammy back, 
— but he didn’t think of that good reason till after- 
wards. Neither boy paused in flight till the street 
was reached. 

Did he have hoofs and a tail ? ” gasped Sammy. 

They stared up at the top windows. A jet of 
flame shot up. The muslin window curtain was on 
fire. 

‘‘ Fire ! ! ! ” yelled Sammy, dashing down the 
street to the alarm box. Wendell — this to his 
credit — ran back into the burning house and 
alarmed the family. Mrs. Bradford rushed for her 
jewels. Cousin Virginia, with great presence of 
mind, put in a fire call by telephone. Sammy’s 
alarm had already reached the fire station on Mt. 
Vernon Street. Almost as Virginia left the telephone, 
the clang of the engines was heard, and a line of fire- 
men carried the hose upstairs, with their formula. 

Is everybody out ? ” The servants rushed clamor- 
ing to the street. Virginia ran to help and reassure 
Mrs. Bradford, and Wendell followed the last fire- 
man up to his room. 

The smoke was so dense that at first he could see 
nothing. Then he saw that the stream of chemical 
had extinguished all the flames, and was now directed 
at a fiery pillar in a sort of human shape that glowed 
redly through the smoke. Wendell alone knew what 
it was. Little by little the angry glow faded to white 
ashes. Gradually it dimmed to floating smoke. The 
fire was out. The smoke cleared. The firemen with- 


SAMMY TRIES HIS HAND 


115 


drew. The family assembled to view the blackened 
walls, to sniff the depressing odor, as of a burnt-out 
district, to exclaim over the havoc and ruin wrought 
in those few minutes. 

‘‘ How did it happen ? ’’ everyone asked, and 
I don’t know,” said Wendell helplessly. How 
could he explain ? 

‘‘ Wasn’t that Sammy Davis in here ? ” asked 
the cook. ‘‘ You two boys were up to something, / 
know.” 

His pretty room was a thing of the past — com- 
pletely burnt out. The walls were black. A few 
charred rags had once been window curtains. A 
sodden rag underfoot was his rug. The closet was 
burned through. Blackened shreds of garments 
hung on the nails. Wendell’s desk was but charred 
timbers. His books were paper ashes. 

I know why Wendell looks so woe-begone ! ” 
said Cousin Virginia. ‘‘ His school books are 
burned.” 

‘‘ Don’t worry, dear,” said his mother. ‘‘ Every- 
thing is covered by insurance. You wanted your 
room re-decorated, you know, and it is easy to replace 
the clothes and books.” 

Ah, yes, but who could replace the Cloak of 
Darkness 1 Who could restore the Cap of Thought ? 
What insurance would cover the Book of Spells } 
Wendell was doomed once more to the drudgery of 
other mortals, to learning his lessons like other boys, 
to plodding his toilsome way through college, to mak- 
ing his own business success, unaided by the great 
minds of the world’s financiers. No wonder he stood 


116 irs YOUR FAIRY TALE, YOU KNOW 


there glum and almost tearful amid the blackened 
ruins of his room and of his future. 

Then suddenly, as he stood by the window, his 
eyes fell upon the street below and the crowd of 
neighbor boys still lingering about the scene of the 
fire, and upon the stone post that stood at the en- 
trance to the court over the way. And his eyes 
brightened to something like happy anticipation as 
he said under his breath, 

‘‘ Well, anyway, I have one wish left on the Wish- 
ing Stone.” 




4 






I ' ! ■ 

, . I , 


l 


' I 








- V.i 


■.•• ■ » 

. ’ i <> 


I 


♦ I 


t 



\ 










I ' 

, S ■’ ! 

( 


I '' , , f' 

• , ,1 

« ‘ i' 


*■ ■ . ’■ '■ ;■/. 

, 1 / 


. I ' *1 . ' . ' J ' ' • * L t- / , 




s 






1 




KML 




•,Jl 7 








■iVv't 


I.. 'J" 


l‘.9*.’-v 


:\v’ 


•li- '•V'-".,';'. 


> 7 * ■ 

6 T(T*>"^ f -' ' -''^ ■ 


•i- 


t 

f 


' 'iV’ 


if ‘ ' • "L. X'y ■ '”’ 

fl' ■ . 


i\r 

« »-s.^ ' 

s. ■' . 

/i t '•■ ■■ - ' 


:f. 


> * /.■ 


;•■' v'''T ^ ' ' 

/■•'.A*-' 


« > 1 -'" ■’ 

RSjrfl;.; *.; L , 

tfT 


mm 

-''■*>*. ii ■ 


0 m: m 

•m-:; 


^9 w 


/ 




... «■ 


‘ 3 




f •■■ 3 


. »,-r 


' ^ '* • ' ! 'L '• •- J ! ‘ .' > '.s ' '4m 

■ ••;, .'V-'i'..--’ v*u 1 




■» • •'''/(.'-'•J*-;/ 

.■; ■ .''Irm.-'.-/’ 

. ' .'■^•- ‘/..xV.'^-VrV >-V.. 

' '■ V' '■' y.. '.v'-'l.' 


■ '■' '■ '-my 

> ' ii i’ < ' "' ' I '* / v»^‘ a t 




r 




r'ifJtW 


iii 


m 
















,1», .;.v;ji ' • '■“* W t; ■’’' ' , .. ■/ ,-' ■ ■ r-. • .l-P ■'■'•. «,.’ ■ ■• • '■*' . ,‘ 

;:'■•■ -ff-y ,v ■■:■. V- -i-';'.' ■-■" ^ ■ ‘i'vVV 




/ , ( 




\ \ 




■.y-'.i-'-i 

/ ■ ; S^-; . .. /'. 








- 'yYf^'Kv.,u; 

• ^ . ■ ’i. Lrt 

■’ - 

/ . V 

■ .'; t/A'fM 

' ■ ., 

■' ’■ 

,*S| 


i: >' . I. • . 

‘ ^ j ' y ■' ‘ . 




r* . v: 


'^^V ' i 


i 


I 


'/^iri' 




'M: 


■\ 


w; ,< 


,1 ■ V 




.V:; 




■t 




'V' ' 


tj' 




m 


i" , s 

•f ■’/> i 

K ‘'i,' 






x/.c. 


j-,.:Vt! 






/• .. Vi * 


V;*,. / 




‘.\j, 




'“'n 


V 


1^1 t'l 


I I 


\ ■. . * 9 '. 


'■ . ' y 

' ■ ■4'x-i 
: ,• y'Ti 

%‘>v. 


* f 


.M’ 


r.s- 


I ii. 




ni 


■T>c. 


r 'v: 


V«J 


Vy 


VL 




'•S">‘ 




yr 






[« 

v''h‘< 




V V 




'»• / 




L**A 


T: 


H'. 


U \ 








'i.' 'iVl' 




VY-V' frf 










w 

S - ' ^ «T* ' * 






'.V 




1 




Cn 


fi 




v^'iy. 




■XJ 




,1 »' ' ,y " 


• jfrv .O ”V 

ro. 

'I.V? 


■\ : {'-1 


V.'. V* 










>. 'w> 


•' ►' ' 

’• i.‘ ' 


'A'% 


•>'< 

i;' I.', -fy'^: 


‘s\f- 




%f. 


At 


*•-'••■. t 


•^v 




j 


•\i .; 




I - f 




yM 


ir 


■'4‘' 


>•■ V.A'>. 

‘Yi 




K 


\ . >■ 




A .n. 


■V 

i.tA; 




Wi 


\ ^ I 


'sr< 












U 




>A' 


t \ 


f£^f 


'I i\ 




,^yv’ • 


n'» 






!■> ■' '/ 


'if'? 


:Js^: 


' 4 » 


t 


'l:.' 




>'.jv 






}K 






'V.' 


:: 




‘. mV 
• ■'’ V. 




■S'.J 




-j. 


.--v 


tOf^ 


< - rt : .' . 


•V*,' 








'J^"‘ - '■A 


Y A; '-‘ix 


I.J 


i 


itxl 




t 


't 


:, -P’ 




L».V. 






•rife 


















LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



□aOES7SDHfl5 



